Di Esistere
by IridescentInTheDark
Summary: Gaara/Sakura. Desperate to escape an arranged marriage for her inheritance, Sakura instead marries a prisoner on death row. But putting this ugly affair behind her is going to be harder than she expected, and sparks fly when he won't let her go.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, salut, goddag,** **bonjour** **, hallo, and** **konnichiwa** **! :)**

 **For the record, this is a collaboration fic written by** IridescentInTheDark **and** FallenInDreams **. We've been planning for a good while but it's not 100% complete yet – more like 75%. I (as in** IridescentInTheDark **) was not happy about posting this while it's still incomplete, but 2015 was the year we were planning to be post, so as a compromise, it's getting started now.**

 **This "I" and "we" is weird.**

 **BUT DON'T FRET! This WILL be completed. We've just got to dot a few "I's" and cross a few "T's" and it's basically all but done.**

 **Anyway. This is set in a regency kind of era, just with heavy Naruto influences – its drama and romance, with a little angst and humour thrown in. PLEASE, no complaining about the pace of this storyline. It is still just a fun side story to our respective, future plans. Translation: NOT GOING TO BE A SLOW-BURN. And if that bothers you then *waves* "buh-bye". To everyone else, welcome, and enjoy! :)**

 **Disclaimer: No copyright laws were harmed in the creation of this fanfiction. Not making any promises about the characters, though.**

…

 **Chapter 1**

Sakura Haruno looked up, shielding her eyes from the glare of the setting sun as her carriage door opened. She hadn't realized how late it was getting and the ride hadn't even taken very long. She supposed it made sense however – darkness just seemed to saturate this entire region. It was everywhere, from the filth of the alleyways and street rats that inhabited them, to the expansive roads paved with asphalt (instead of the old worn out roads), that were closed to all but those who could afford the newer, larger carriages. It was a staggering discrepancy in this country's distinction between classes. Now even the sun was in a hurry to get away from it.

She sighed at her own melodrama as the coachman held his arm out to her, waiting patiently on her. She was never going to get used to the etiquette of this all. It wasn't her world. But she humoured him anyway, laying her hand on his arm and letting him take the bulk of her weight as she stepped out, and surveyed the decrepit building in front of her. Wind billowed her dress and she held tightly to it; she was almost positive there was a cliff nearby, making this place colder than it should be. This out-of-the-way, condemned structure was on the outskirts of the Land of Wind (her new country and enemy), and the perfect place for people not wishing to be seen by the 'higher ups'. Nobody came here unless they were prisoners or guards – not even the families of the aforementioned individuals.

"My Lady," the coachman said. "Do you really intend to set foot in this god forsaken place?"

She was surprised by the genuine concern for her safety in his voice; he mustn't have heard the latest rumours about her, she supposed. He was only a little more than ten years older than her, so surely he knew what his younger peers were saying? She'd recently turned eighteen and was marriage material now, but everyone knew to avoid the daughter of the pauper who wouldn't even take her new family's name. She was Sakura Haruno thank-you very much, not Sakura what-ever-his-name-was.

 _Nouveau riche_. The words followed her as she went about her day, ignoring the snobby, wealthy socialites that called her this behind her back (but in harsh whispers that she knew they knew she could hear). She wasn't one of them because she used a single fork for her meals, didn't drop into a perfect curtsey on demand or spend her days picking flowers and envisioning what her life would be like once she finally settled down, and started popping out babies. She was _newly rich_ , weird, and had a temper.

They whispered about her father, made assumptions about his death, and even went as far as speculating that he wasn't her real father; apparently, Sakura was actually conceived on a donkey while a crowd of fellow hippies watched on.

Sakura nodded to her coachman. "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. The warden is expecting me, and I will be fine in his care."

The man still looked hesitant to let her go. The warden was an imposing man, but the coachman wasn't fazed by his appearance. "You are sure?"

"I'll be back," she promised and he reluctantly released her.

"She'll come to no harm," the warden assured him, approaching them slowly.

If she remembered correctly, he preferred to go by the name Baki. He extended his arm out, indicating for her to follow him. Sakura took one last look at her forlorn looking coachman, and obediently hastened to catch up to Baki.

"I must admit," he said, not bothering with the pretence of 'my lady'; she liked him already. "I found your request to visit the inmates of my humble oubliette peculiar. I refer of course, to your inquiry about the condemned ones."

"Yes," she said.

She was looking for a particular kind. Sakura had contacted several prisons along the Wind and Fire borders, hoping to find the right one. Because of her social _betters_ , her mother's insistence, and her stepfather's recent illness, she had two options before her: marry, or return to peasant life. She would be fine with the latter, given that she was used to it and the life of high society had proven more difficult for her, but she'd recently embarked on what one might call a 'higher calling' (a charity, if you will), and without the income provided by her new family, it would flicker and die. She just needed a few hundred thousand more Ryō (the official currency of Wind – in Fire, it was the modern Yen), and then her mother's in-laws could rot for all she cared. She'd go back to milking her elderly neighbour's cow for them, and cleaning out the stalls.

She just needed a little more time.

The only problem was that any intended she decided on would be entitled to half of the money her proprietary driven stepfather was offering up in return for her loss of freedom. She couldn't lose that much, it would hinder her efforts. So she came up with an alternative. It wasn't pleasant, but it was just a piece of paper anyway.

They ascended the cobble steps of the complex, Baki leading the way. She mentally noted the absence of the other guards as he'd promised in his most recent communique: no-one else was to know she was here. Sakura wondered what her father would think of this, were he alive. Her father, Kizashi Haruno, had been born poor and died poorer; using the excuse that society dictated that a woman was unable to look after herself without a man by her side, Mebuki took it upon herself to find a man to replace her late husband. And find one she had – a wretch of a man.

But she too, was not immune to gossip. However, the same people who gossiped and judged Mebuki for not coming from money were the same women Ino Yamanaka (Sakura's only upper-class friend) told her were sneaking around behind their own husbands backs because they weren't in love with them, or they were horny (or whatever). Sakura had no doubt in her mind also, that the men were sleeping around too.

It was a nice arrangement for them, she supposed. They got the money and position they wanted, but also that little nooky on the side their respective partners weren't supplying for them. But it just grossed her out. She didn't want anything to do with the so-called sanctity of marriage, but sleeping around like that was even worse than declaring to honour one person for the rest of her life. At least, she thought so.

"In here," Baki said, interrupting her thoughts.

His office was small but she didn't mind. She felt safe with him anyway, oddly enough. He sat down and she took the chair opposite him.

"Now that you are here, please tell me what this is about."

Sakura took a deep breath and let it out. She had already offered him a large sum in return for his help (nowhere near as large as the sum that was coming to her if she pulled this off, but large enough for him), so she told him everything, making sure to emphasize that this didn't leave the room. When she was finished, he eyed her curiously, thinking hard. She was a pretty little thing, and despite her lower-class upbringing, was still well-mannered enough. He had already guessed what she wanted, given that he had friends in the noble court and they were very vocal about her 'type'. He didn't agree with it, but he understood how it could happen.

And now she wanted a husband – more than that, a man who was on death row and therefore unable to claim any of the money she was soon to inherit. He stroked his chin. "I believe I have what you're looking for."

"Really?"

"Well, I can't speak for him," he backpedalled. "But…wait, I'll be back."

He stood quickly, excused himself and closed the door, leaving her alone in the room.

Sakura let out a deep breath of nervousness. What was he doing now? Now that she'd told him everything all her previous nerves – the ones she thought she'd gotten rid of on the journey here – came flooding back. She didn't want to marry some prison inmate, on death row or not. But what the hell else was she supposed to do? She'd been sending messages to penitentiaries for the last few months and this was the first promising gaoler so far. Granted, none of the others had had even an inkling as to who she was or what she wanted, but just the fact that she'd wanted to see the warden and not a specific prisoner was apparently enough to dismiss her altogether.

Sakura stood and walked over to the small window. She was right, there was a cliff nearby. It made her think of the coldness of the society she'd been thrusted into. She may have made a friend in Ino, but even that adorably quirky girl wasn't enough to make Sakura want to remain among them. Already girls her age were parting their legs and lifting their petticoats at the drop of a hat, and then the hypocrites turned around and treated _her_ like the scarlet woman.

A few more minutes passed before Baki ducked his head back in the room. "If you are agreeable, I believe we have a winner."

Sakura smiled at him, nodded and followed him out into the corridor.

"He was in solitary confinement for kicking a guard," Baki explained, leading her down the hallway. "Don't worry," he added, when she looked stricken. "It was self-defence. Some of these newbies need to learn to take their aggression out a little more constructively. Anyway, I had him sent back to his cell; it's a little distance from the others because of his condemned status, but we have to take the direct route there, so stick close to me and away from the cells. Don't worry; none of the inmates in here ever get letters from home."

He continued on about prison etiquette and maybe having some kind of melee competition for the guards, to get them working on their stress; apparently, a lot of them had been pressure by family to work here and were 'acting out'. Sakura held a handkerchief to her mouth as they moved deeper into the complex. There was a peculiar smell burning at the back of her throat, but she was too wary to ask Baki what it was.

Baki clanged his truncheon against the bars as they passed; the prisoners jumped and scurried backwards, out of the way. Sakura gripped the front of her dress as though trying to cover herself – not that she needed to.

She thought about the man they were going to see. "What's he in for?"

Baki just shrugged. "Was caught stealing a horse."

He left out the part where the boy's father had tried to kill him, and the boy was already a fugitive when that horse wrangler had wrangled him. He also decided to leave this meeting out of the weekly reports to his superiors. This foreigner was making a sizable donation to his own personal trust fund, so he knew how to keep his mouth shut. He doubted she would know anything about the boy either, even if he told her his name. It was a strange world they lived in, where one could be the subject of much gossip but also know so little of others.

Sakura looked at him incredulously. "And for that he's due for the hangman's noose?"

"That's the law, ma'am," he said defensively. "But you said this issue was time sensitive?" She nodded. "And you're sure you want someone who's on death row?" Again, she nodded. "Then this is the prisoner for you."

"The only one?" Why was she arguing now? This one wasn't a murderer or rapist, from the sounds of things. She didn't want her name attached to someone like that. Sakura sighed deeply.

"There's also an elderly chap who's scheduled for hanging next Thursday at noon for screwing his neighbour's goats, a drunk paedophile at the end of the following week, and two barbarians from the south a week after that for, well, all kinds of barbaric things."

Sakura shivered. "I get the point."

"Here we are."

Sakura peered through the bars as Baki banged his keys against the door dramatically; the cell was dark mostly, except for the moonlight that conveniently silhouetted a motionless figure in the corner.

"Visitor for you, little sandy boy," the warden said. "Be a good boy and say hello."

She bit her lip nervously as the silhouette moved.

"What?" His voice came out hoarse, sending a shiver down her spine.

"I said, say hello," Baki repeated. "A pretty young lady has come to see you, so sit up and for god sake, fix up your pants."

Sakura looked away, blushing as she realized what he'd said. She hadn't seen anything though, luckily.

The prisoner grunted in acknowledgement and pulled himself up to his knees.

"Say hello," Baki repeated, sounding impatient.

"H-hello."

It was almost comical, in a way. But this wasn't getting her anywhere. The prisoner shuffled toward the door, stopping quickly when he noticed she was watching him closely. Sakura turned to the warden.

"Can we have some privacy?" She asked. Baki frowned at her. "Please?"

"Right, right; I'll just be down the hallway. Holler if he does something naughty. And _you_ ," he added, clanging his keys against the door again. "Answer the lady's questions and behave yourself. No monkey business."

The boy in front of her continued to stare at her as she watched the warden walk away. Sakura cleared her throat and took in his appearance. He wasn't too bad looking, she supposed, remembering he'd just been in solitary confinement. They weren't given gourmet meals here, but they hardly starved either. Her eyes trailed passed his legs and torso, onto his face; he had soft jade eyes, rusty coloured hair and a peculiar symbol on his forehead. It was a character from a language she didn't recognize; she's wasn't cultured enough to know the tongue of countries outside the lands of Wind and Fire.

"How old are you?" She asked.

"Almost nineteen."

Good. "I don't suppose the warden told you what this is about?"

He didn't answer.

Sakura sighed. "I need something, and I'm willing to pay you for it–"

"With what, prison food coupons?"

"With…" What did she have to offer him? Sakura hadn't thought that part through.

"You don't know who I am, do you?"

She frowned at him. "Who are you?"

"Gaara."

"Okay, Gaara, I'm Sakura."

No response; just that steely stare of his. It should unnerve her but she found herself moving closer to the bars, wanting to reach out and–

"I wouldn't do that. I'm _dangerous_ ," he added sarcastically.

"All you did was steal a horse."

He scoffed. "Mangy farmer."

The penalty for stealing horses in her homeland was different to what was waiting for him; she wasn't sure which was worse, though. Sakura leant forward, gripping the bars of his cell. "Do you know what they do to horse thieves where I come from?"

The redhead grunted. She wasn't sure if that meant he thought she was stupid or being sarcastic.

"The thief is lassoed," she went on. She had no idea why she was telling him this. "And dragged along the ground by the horse he tried to steal; the length is determined by the owner of the horse."

He frowned at her. "Where are you from?"

"Fire," she said.

"Hm. You should go back there, love. This country will only break such a delicate flower."

She glared at him. "You don't know me."

"And you don't know what you're talking about. Go home."

"I can't do that."

"Why?" He stood shakily, resting heavily on the bars; the light of the wall torch could now reach his face and as it lit up his features, she gasped slightly. In this light, his rusty hair looked redder and his eyes were dimmer but intelligent. And he was gorgeous. She'd noticed it before, but this close, and this clear…she understood suddenly, what those girls in her village growing up were talking about – the lure of the bad boy. He didn't have to be a killer, he was clearly trouble; she wanted to drag him into her family stables and have her wicked way with him.

Sakura took a deep breath to compose herself, ignoring the smirk working its way across his lips. "I need your help."

"Go on."

"I'm coming into a lot of money," she explained. "But first I need to marry."

Gaara reached out to touch the bars of his cage gently; the move was calculated, and so delicate. He kept his eyes trained on hers and he could tell she was entranced. He had that effect on most women, even after being in this place for a few days. He wouldn't let her get too close though, he may look pleasing enough, but the smell was another thing all together. She jumped slightly when his fingers found her bare skin; just a touch along her arm. He ran his hand along the delicate skin gently, his smirk becoming more pronounced. He felt it too, that jolt upon contact. It made him wonder how much more he could do to her.

"Uh-huh?"

"I…I have a need to keep the money for myself," she said.

"Meaning you don't want to share it with your intended."

She nodded.

"So," he prodded.

"So…" She couldn't believe she was going to put it like this but, "will you marry me?"

Gaara laughed. His deep voice echoed a little but mostly rattled the strange butterflies in her stomach. His hand left her skin and she trembled, already missing the warmth from that jolt. It was…pleasant.

"My fee still needs accommodating," he reminded her, thinking of his prison coupon joke.

"What do you want in return for helping me?"

Gaara refrained from touching her again, to rile her up; she was so easy to read. "If I sign a marriage document, I'll be wanting my wedding night."

"Huh?" She wasn't confused, but he was clearly out of his mind.

"I mean," he said; his eyes trailed over her body as he spoke. "I want to seat myself deep inside my beautiful new bride, and make love to her properly."

' _No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!'_

She wasn't some easy harlot trading sex for a favour – no matter how attractive she found this man. She blushed just thinking about it; how was she supposed to even agree to it? Her entire body trembled with an anticipation she couldn't describe, but she wouldn't let it control her. She wasn't going to lose her virginity like this. No way.

Gaara watched her carefully, gauging her reaction. "Call it the last request of a condemned man, if you will," he said.

He damn well needed a good fuck. He hadn't been with a girl for so long he couldn't remember the face of that _putain_. He had no intention of languishing in this stupid prison and wasting time getting angry over his lack of a sex life; up until now he'd just been dealing with his hardening problem himself. So why should he pass up this opportunity? Gaara gave her a once over again, mentally noting the shape of her clothes, how they clung to her body, and the curves on her otherwise petite form. Her cleavage was barely visible, and the fabric of her dress hid her well, but it still hugged her body in all the right places. There was something to be said for a woman who could still appeal to him while acting so modest. But he had every intention of wiping that naïve expression from her face; he could squeeze a scream or two out of her, that's for sure.

Sakura shook her head. He really was insane after all.

"I…can't." It wasn't worth it…right? This should disgust her– the part of her that actually agreed with _proper_ society knew this was supposed to sicken her. But it didn't, and that scared her more than the idea that sealing this deal could leave her in worse condition than before – like being pregnant and single in a world where people already thought she was no good. No, his demands were out of the question.

He smirked at her and she turned away from him to leave. Her hand drifted to the wall for support when he spoke again and Sakura trembled, trying to fight the desire his voice evoked in her. He was dirty, beneath contempt. He didn't know her. He was just being a cocky bastard. Nonetheless, his parting words struck a chord in her. He sounded so confident…

"See you soon, _mon amour_."

 **...**

 **So you see…not the light-hearted, fluffy smut fic we were going for – but it has room for a bit of angst and smut, nonetheless. It's not an original trope, but we love it. Sorry for the oocness. This is an AU world, after all. Tell us what you think! XD**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again. :) We welcome your reading, reviewing, favourit-ing and alerting skills. XD**

 **Disclaimer: c.f. chapter 1.**

…

 **Chapter 2**

White, mixed in with some creamy pastel colour. Brown, tinted in a hue of green that made her eyes hurt. Black, twisted storm-like features with shades of grey that made it look almost ominous. And all this was plastered on the most horrendous architecture the carpentry gods could have ever carved into the too-high, too-wide ceiling of a teenager's opulent, private bedroom. It was enough to make her sick.

Sakura turned her head away from her ceiling, looking for something else to occupy her as she lay in bed. If she got up before ten o'clock, those annoying, younger step siblings of hers would hound her and she wasn't in the mood to fend off their grubby hands.

Ah, the walk-in-wardrobe, or _armoire_ as it was referred to by her 'betters'. The wardrobe had the strangest markings. Lines that criss-crossed were at odd angles and the entire thing was an outdated eyesore. She'd seen better décor in farming homes. The irony was not lost on her.

Sakura had just started counting the odd engravings on the closet closest to the en suite when a loud bang resounded against her bedroom door. Sorry, _boudoir_. The many things in her chambers came in a multitude of colours and names. She ignored it. Her door was locked and whoever it was pounding on it was about to find out and go away. They always did.

The triviality of her life afforded that she wasn't called on for many things. Unlike her step family, she didn't have any social responsibilities, so she could sleep as long as she wanted – it sounded good on paper, but in practice, it made her lazy, according to polite society. But what she wouldn't give to go back to the Land of Fire, take off her dress, throw down her mitts, kick off her shoes, and don simple, utilitarian clothes instead. And thinking of returning to simpler times reminded her of what she'd been sulking over the past two weeks.

Gaara.

She had a month from her visit to decide, according to Baki. He couldn't delay the execution – that was the law. But if she returned it would be like accepting that that strange man was real; a figment of her imagination couldn't be executed. It had been such a short visit but it was seared into her memory – every movement he made, the calm but steely look on his face and in his eyes; she couldn't get him out of her head. If he'd been a noble, she wouldn't wait for society's permission, she'd court him herself.

He made her tremble, but...there was also a sense of calm that she felt when they locked eyes. Not only did the rest of the world disappear from around them, she felt like...gods this sounded stupid in her head, but she felt like she would do anything to have him.

 _'Very stupid.'_

And he wanted to sleep with her. Sakura blushed, trying to picture it. There was so much colour, so much **passion** in her vivid imagination. Her imaginary Gaara was just lifting her petticoat and dipping his head when her 'visitor' pounded on her door again.

"I warn you, Sakura!" Ino's voice carried through the door. "I know you're awake, and I'll knock this door down if you don't answer me!"

Ino. Of course. Trust her to interrupt her daydreams.

Sakura groaned, shuffled her way over to the door, unlocked it and shuffled moodily back over to her bed. "What did I ever do to deserve having to put up with you?" She asked, as the blonde poked her head in.

"Have you seen this?" Ino asked rhetorically, ignoring her question, and flopping onto her bed. She held a parchment in her hand, waving it about, then read it out loud. "Miss Haruno, your presence is required at brunch in the main dining hall at the stroke of the hour." She pulled a face. "Vague much; the stupid cows tried to deliver this to you twenty minutes ago but I tied their plaits to each other." She grinned. "Aren't you glad I'm visiting for the week?"

Sakura sighed. "I appreciate you getting angry in my stead," she said. "But it's not really helping."

"They're cows, all of them; actual, proper cows, not some low-life bovine, but cows nonetheless."

Sakura giggled. "Yes, the kind milkers use diamond studded gloves to milk."

"Dairymaid," Ino corrected automatically, but she grinned at her, putting on airs. "Really, how uncouth of you. Are you at least practising your cursive like I told you?"

"Mm-hm."

"Sakura?"

"..."

"Sakura..."

Sakura threw her hands up, exasperated. "It's so hard!"

"You have to learn this! Your nasty stepfather is going to just marry you off to some fat Lord living off his parents' money without your input if you're not careful, and that beastly mother of yours will let him!"

"I know." Sakura turned away from her, her eyes drifting to her writing desk. She sniffed heavily, holding back a sob. Her life sucked. "I know, Ino."

"Oh Sakura." Ino flung her arms around her. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have said anything."

"It's not your fault." Sakura clung to her. "If I'd been raised knowing all this, it'd be a different story."

"Sometimes I forget how different our childhoods were." Ino pulled away and stared at her. "You have a year; the coming out ball is next year. Let's both walk away with rings on our fingers, okay?"

The coming out ball, otherwise known as the débutante ball (or 'marriage mart' as it was sometimes called by some men of higher standing; because it was the best venue for young ladies to encounter possible suitors), was a winter seasoned string of galas where the women of Wind were lined up for the men to choose from. A lot of women were of age, some a little under, but Sakura had been holding off on it knowing no 'respectable' man was going to try to woo her. She was running out of excuses.

Sakura wiped at her eyes. "You're not going to the ones this year? You're eighteen too."

"Well, if you're not going, then I'm not going."

"Thanks, Ino."

"Okay, now get out of bed." Ino jumped off her bed, headed over to the largest closet, and flung it open dramatically. "You have a brunch to attend."

.

.

Everything and everyone was against her!

Ignoring the otherwise gorgeous drapes, wallpaper and statues decorating the prison she'd been forced to call her home for months now as they flashed by her in her haste, Sakura strode out of the dining room and stomped her way down the hallways aimlessly and angrily (rather unladylike, she did note however, that the servants she swept past shot her surprised looks for being so obviously raucous – like she cared what they thought!).

Her step-father was an arrogant, pug faced ponce! What was the Wind version of that Fire slang, _bâtard_? No, that was bastard.

Close enough.

Ooh, he was a right _bâtard_!

How dare he order her around like he was her father? And those stupid, insipid step-sisters of hers! She was going to do more than plait their hair together like Ino had. Sakura already had a section in her journal dedicated to the things she'd like to do to them, and she mentally made a note to add "tie their messy hair to their bed posts in their sleep" to that list as well.

The caricature of a family brunch she'd just endured, ran through her head as she threw open a set of doors in front of her, and practically charged down the adjoining hallway.

Her mother had absorbed herself into high society to the point that she seemed to have forgotten they weren't born into this world. As a result, Mebuki Hanabusa, nee Haruno, had eagerly gone along with her new husband's idea that her only daughter needed to be married off as soon as possible.

" _What do you mean 'marry before the end of the month'?"_

That had been her response to the surprise news of her imminent betrothal at brunch. She was supposed to be grateful, apparently.

Instead, she had seethed and lost her appetite.

Her whole life was not supposed to be planned out by some obnoxious, over-dressed, royal wannabe! What had her mother even been thinking, marrying him? They were doing just fine (working in the family stables and helping out the neighbours when the elderly couple couldn't handle their workload) until her mother had decided she just couldn't wait to start having sex again. The pinkette shivered involuntarily, and shook her head to get rid of those those mental images.

Brunch with the relatives was always a disaster for Sakura – she always spent the half hour ignoring the giggles from her stepsisters, and avoiding her step-father's stern, disapproving looks while her mother pretended she didn't exist – but this one was going in the hall of fame.

But that didn't mean she didn't have options.

" _So all I have to do is provide a marriage certificate?"_

Her own comment had answered the question in her head.

All she had to do was find some sucker that would put their name on a piece of paper for a small indemnity rather than the small fortune her loaded relatives thought she could be bought out for, and she would be free...

Free. It sounded so unreal. She couldn't grasp the concept that money was something to be thrown about to get her out of someone's life. She should be insulted. But she felt good. When this was all over, she could do anything. Sakura wanted that feeling of freedom and weightlessness. She craved it.

Which only served to make her current anger all the more palpable.

She veered down one hallway, deliberately moving away from the wing of the manor where her bedroom was, and stalked toward the library. It was somewhere none of those idiots would follow her to.

So, she had two choices before: capitulate and get married, or run away. She kept telling herself that she hadn't run away yet because of her 'charity'. She also kept telling herself that the reason she'd stuck around in the charity so long hadn't just been to help the helpless, and make herself feel better about having nothing better to do since she'd moved to the Land of Wind.

But that was a whole other set of problems.

 _'How had my life become so complicated and annoying?'_

As disgusting and obnoxious as her step-father was, she truly blamed her mother.

 _"...and I know just the gentry who would be willing to overlook your_ _ **unfortunate**_ _upbringing to appreciate your...assets for marriage..."_

Of course that comment didn't make him any less to blame when he'd eyed her up over the dining room table in front of her own mother during the entire course of the brunch. Mebuki hadn't batted an eyelash at his lecherous stare, but the corner of her mouth had crinkled.

Back to that gentry comment.

If Sakura remembered correctly, Lord Houshoku already had a harem of concubines, and had probably contracted several sexually transmitted diseases by now. His wife had died ten years ago and he'd so far been content to bathe in opulence, sloth, food, wine and sex, rather than actually produce a legitimate heir.

Sakura shivered. Everyone knew what kind of man he really was, and if she didn't find an out, that **thing** would actually be touching and affecting her too. She was already a bad joke among the upper-class – marrying him would tip her over into the realm of being a laughing stock.

 _'No!'_

She wasn't going to let this be her life. She just needed some more time.

 _'Time for what?'_

Sakura stopped in her tracks, skidding a little as she realised something. What the hell was she even still doing here? This wasn't her home. Her mother was a complete stranger. Sakura spent her days in the library, music room, her bedroom or out...being **charitable**.

She needed money to run away, she supposed, but not a lot.

Naruto would help her, but she hated that he did so much for her already.

She stood still, staring at an ugly (surprisingly, given the décor of the rest of the hallway) bust of the reigning king – her in-laws were complete suck ups – without really seeing it.

She could do so much more with Naruto, among his dealings and with people who actually cared about the person sharing their personal space. If she ran away and asked him, he wouldn't hesitate to help her make Sakura Haruno nothing more than a memory. He could do it...

But...

Sakura started walking again, this time slower. Her mind was mush the entire time so she didn't realise until it was too late that she'd automatically started walking back to her bedroom. Her flight from the dining room had been out of character, despite the fact that she was screaming on the inside.

" _Beau-père_."

Sakura had given a half-hearted curtsy, and then stormed out of the room.

And with that, the rage came flying back.

Sakura slammed open the doors to her _boudoir_ , startling a maid who had obviously been cleaning her room. The furious look on the pinkette's face scared the brunette servant so utterly that she let out a frightened gasp, and hastened out of the room, not even closing the door behind herself. It never ceased to amaze Sakura how easily people in this world (servant or not) were frightened by a woman standing up for herself – or screeching like a banshee, which she'd done on a number of occasions. Not her finest moments, of course.

Back to the point.

She was going to kill her step-father. The nerve of that man!

"I'm going to kill him, chop off his balls and feed them to those hideous sprogs he calls his daughters!"

"That would be most unwise, young miss."

Sakura spun around and glared at her surprise visitor – it was the coachman she'd paid to take her to the Westward prison. She simmered slightly, remembering he'd been kind to her. He was also her partner in crime; he took messages to Ino and nicked food for her from the kitchens when her in-laws were being particularly bothersome and she didn't want to deal with them. He'd helped her out with a number of things.

Ino had business with her family for the rest of the day, so she didn't have anyone to vent to until the later – and the Yamanaka family were due to depart in the morning.

"I know a few people who wouldn't mind seeing him gone," Sakura said morosely, in response to his disapproving expression.

"And you, when they blame you for any harm done."

Of course, he was right.

Sakura nodded and he smiled.

"My own family history is far from perfect," he said, a twinkle in his eye – that twinkle always made her smile. "Nobody's is. You'll get through this, miss."

"Thank-you."

He excused himself, closing the door for her, and Sakura sat down on her bed, thinking. **He** was the reason she was still here, truth be told. Him and others like him. He hadn't been born in the Land of Wind, so he wasn't able to rise up the ranks without marriage – and since he abhorred the idea of marriage like she did, he was destined to be nothing more than a guard or soldier in this country. He'd often spoken of returning to the Land of Fire, just as she daydreamed about.

That settled it. She was going to contact Baki and get this over with. Anything she caught from Gaara **had** to be harmless compared to Lord Houshoku and his vile penis. (She ignored the nagging voice in her head that reminded her she'd just implied a condemned prisoner was more sanitary than a so-called man of higher standing.)

' _I'm not going back because he's hot.'_

Just...for her previous reasons. No matter what she did, it wasn't just her own life that was being affected. She started this mess, so she might as well see it through. Sakura hummed to herself, pressing her hands to her cheeks as her face warmed, remembering how pleasant Gaara really is compared to that ridiculous Lord.

 _'Yes,'_ she thought, grabbing a quill to pen her letter to Baki. _'Much more pleasant...'_

.

.

The days were longer than before. He'd checked – the sun wasn't setting like it was supposed to.

Gaara shook his head, trying to remember if it was the solitude or the hunger thinking that. He'd pissed off one of the other guards again, and they were not a friendly bunch. His mind flitted between images of his hands around his father's throat, and what was for dinner.

What he wouldn't do for some Buckwheat Galettes with Salmon, Capers, and Dill or Salmon Rillettes with a side platter of cheese. He loved his _Bouillabaisse_ and _La Chaudree,_ not to mention his favourite: gizzard seasoned with sea-salt. And washed down with cider. He suddenly decided he loved cider.

Gaara's stomach growled.

A laugh nearby startled him; he'd forgotten about his newest guard.

"Don't think you're getting out of here this time, freak."

He'd been in solitary for a week now.

Gaara just ignored him. This always riled the man up more. The redhead closed his eyes, refusing to wince or react as the heavy wood of the truncheon hit the steel of his cage with a sharp, startling clang. The sound of keys alerted him to what was coming. This one was particularly violent. He opened the door and advanced on him.

"I'll mess up that pretty face," he snarled.

Gaara snarled back, earning him a swipe across the face; the edges of his keys drew blood and the redhead made a promise to himself: the next time this man unlocked his prison just to throw him to the ground and beat on him, he was going to break more than his nose.

The guard swung his truncheon about insolently, grinning. "Too bad you're going to hang pretty soon – you'd make a good permanent punching bag. I'm gonna–"

"Tarou, get out of it!"

The warden's voice interrupted whatever Tarou was going to do. The mangy guard obediently backed off.

"Your punishment's over," Baki said to Gaara sternly. "Behave yourself for more than a day, will you?"

Baki sighed, threw Gaara a sympathetic look as Tarou reluctantly dragged him back to his normal cell, and continued on his rounds. They were both surrounded by idiots. He only hoped the pink haired girl agreed to the terms, despite the redhead's stipulations.

Time was running out.

 **...**

 **Obviously there's a holiday or two, or more, coming up and real life is going to be the priority for the next couple of weeks. But don't worry, we will return to our regularly scheduled programming starting next month.**

 **So, happy &/or merry (depending on where you're living) Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Saturnalia, and every other holiday being celebrated this month! See you all in the New Year!**

 **P.S: is this a cliff-hanger? Did we leave you hanging? It kind of reads that way, but also kinda doesn't...genuinely can't tell.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hope everyone had a great New Years! XD**

 **This chapter is a little later than planned, but it's here now, and updates will be more orderly now. Enjoy. :)**

 **Disclaimer: c.f. chapter 1.**

…

 **Chapter 3**

Sakura Haruno wasn't just incredibly nervous, she was bordering on terrified.

As a child, whenever she felt scared or nervous, the sounds of domesticated and wild animals alike, always calmed her down. She loved watching them, and spending time with them had always been a huge part of why she loved living in a farming village, and why she missed her home town so desperately these days. Not to mention the seasons in the Land of Fire were a far sight more appealing than what she'd been enduring lately.

The subtle smells of the freshly bloomed flora and clean air, and the chorus of birds and mating calls of various animals worked to make spring the season that nature was at its most beautiful.

The aroma of honeysuckle from the vines outside her bedroom door, the rolling green hills that bordered her village, and the sounds of horses grazing in the open pasture, reminded her of summer mornings.

The rainbow-like colours of the leaves of trees fighting to hold onto their nutrients in the face of the coming cold, embodied the strength that she'd always loved about the season of Autumn.

And even winter had its appeal – the Land of Fire did not freeze over like many of it's neighbouring lands did, but the smell of snow lingered throughout the months, like it was a passing dream, and even though the days were shorter, the sunsets and sunrises were the most startling of all the four seasons.

Sakura was dangerously close to sounding like a whiny child, but it was just nostalgia. She had no intention of living the rest of her life in the Land of Wind.

She sighed deeply, looking out over the courtyard below her window. The Yamanaka family had only left recently but she was already bored, and lonely. She remembered how terrified she'd been, first meeting them, and startled she was when Ino had not epitomised the same stuck up airs as the other high nobles.

Their transition from strangers to best friends had surprised many, but not those that knew Ino well.

Sakura fingered the edge of the windowsill, thinking about the first time she'd met Ino – the blonde had never been one to be told what to do, and that extended to her parents. She was a force to be reckoned with when she got mad, and despite her associating with Sakura, Ino was not ostracised from her peers – perhaps out of fear. If her parents told her to stop hanging around the pinkette, Sakura didn't know, but both Inoichi and Noriko Yamanaka were good friends with Lord Hanabusa and his late wife; Sakura's in-laws.

Forced to choose between either enduring the immaturity of Sakura's stepsisters, or satisfy her curiosity about this n _ouveau riche_ girl and the rumours surrounding her, Ino chose the latter. Thus, an unorthodox but well-meaning friendship had begun. For someone who was so eager to immerse herself in high culture, Ino surprised Sakura by being able to distance herself from it, from time to time.

Ino seemed to blossom no matter what social circle she ran in.

And they shared more in common than just their mutual dislike for the spoiled brats of this country: Ino's mother had owned and ran a chain of flower shops before meeting Inoichi, meaning that she came from a working family. But despite her simple beginnings, Noriko was not the black sheep of any family, let alone high society. Therefore, Ino was not treated like an outsider.

And Sakura was more than a little envious. It sucked. Why did she have to be born in Wind in order to not be the butt of every joke in the country?

She sighed, closing her eyes.

The message birds here were well-trained, and she'd been forced to use one she wasn't familiar with to communicate with Baki, the warden of the Westward prison. Thankfully, her peers didn't care enough to check up on her.

And thinking of Baki pulled her mind straight to Gaara.

She'd sent the letter and was currently terrified of what the older man's response will be. A lot was riding on this.

Ino had been wrong about her predicament: she didn't have a year. She could wait until then, but in the meantime, her stepfather had threatened to start negotiations with Lord Houshoku, and she'd have to grin and bear the year in ways she didn't want to contemplate. But the old man had already conceded that if she supplied a marriage certificate, complete with another's name by hers, he would let her loose into the world with the money he'd _promised_ for her coming of age, and they'd both win: she'd be free of them and he'd be free of responsibility for her.

She just needed Baki to keep his end of their deal.

It pained her to rely so heavily on someone else to secure her own future – she'd always been self-sufficient, even from a young age, and it had served her so well until now. She was slightly neurotic that way.

Not to mention her 'charity'.

Sakura walked over to her desk and pulled out a roll of parchment, thinking about that. It had been a few days since she'd heard from Naruto, her accomplice in her new endeavour, and she supposed a strongly worded letter to him couldn't hurt either. He was such a knuckle-head and needed a kick in the arse to get moving, every now and then.

 _NU,  
Get off your bum and write me, will you? I'm going stir crazy.  
SH._

Eh, he'll understand. Her penmanship skills had never been up to par, but as long as she got the message across, she didn't care. He would know what she was so anxious about, but not why; ever since her visit to the Westward prison, she'd thought almost non-stop about Gaara. It didn't seem right that he was stuck in there for such a menial crime, and she'd decided to focus her attentions on looking for a work-around on that ridiculous law. But no matter what country she found herself in, the punishment for stealing a horse was barbaric – and rock solid. She couldn't find a single loophole for that law, and if Naruto and his barrister friend couldn't help her she didn't know what to do.

And then there was Gaara. That fine specimen she wouldn't be allowed to keep. He kept her up at night too. She went back and forth in her mind about him. One moment, she was imagining him naked, and the next, she couldn't even contemplate having sex with him.

No sex. No…no sex.

No other kinds of heavy petting either. She hadn't even kissed him, only touched him. And if she was this turned on by someone she'd only ever touched briefly, what would happen when he did actually part her legs? How would she be with any future lovers? She shuddered. Just the thought of having multiple partners over the coming years made her queasy. There was something seriously wrong with her.

Maybe it was because she was a virgin? She had no idea a virgin could get so worked up over the opposite sex.

A squawking interrupted her. Did crows even squawk?

She stood up and walked to her window. The aviary was visible and she could spot a few figures on it from here; one would be the bird keeper. One of the birds had flown by her window and she watched it descend toward the aviary, transfixed. They were such majestic creatures. She couldn't help but be impressed by how they carried themselves. She watched a moment later before grabbing her coat – she was only wearing one layer of clothing, after all.

The weather was morbid today; the drizzling didn't let up the entire time she walked toward the aviary.

Sakura ascended the stone stairs to the top and ignored the bird keeper as he gawked at her. It still bothered her, but on some level she was used to it now; the stares, the judging little eyes, the silent 'why are you still here?' these people cast her way every time they were unfortunate enough to spot her.

Sakura found her crow (the one she'd obtained after Baki had told her to stop using 'pretty' birds) and tied her letter to Naruto to the bird's leg, and watched apprehensively as it flew away. As excited as she was finding herself with the prospect of seeing that redhead again, an equally powerful weight had settled in her stomach. That constant feeling that had been hounding her was still there. She had no idea how to deal with it.

All she did know for sure was that it was too late to back out now.

Nothing was happening right now, but soon, everything would come to blows. She was going to get married, fool her mother and step-father, and trick the crown into thinking it was all legitimate.

She was going to be in deep _merde_ if this didn't work.

.

.

The crow was an amazing animal; its intelligence and resourcefulness made it better suited to the life of a carrier bird than those dainty birds the nobles used. It didn't get as much attention for its homing ability, but it was certainly safer when passing messages you didn't want to fall into the wrong hands.

Baki was a cautious man, to say the least. So when he'd first received that tiny little swallow carrying the first of many missives from that pretty pink haired little girl, his first instinct was to ignore the letter. Nobody he wanted to talk to would use these freaky looking things anyway. But something nagged him in the back of his mind, and before he knew it, he was reading the strange writing of the even stranger young woman. She claimed to be a part of the higher society in that Eastern Wind region but wrote like a middle-class girl trying to sound like high society. His mind went immediately to the juicy gossip of the Haruno family and he was proven correct the moment he saw her emerge from her carriage over two weeks ago.

That night had been almost completely still, the only lively force of nature being the billowing wind. It was kind of eerie. Tonight however, they were experiencing torrential rain. He blamed the prison Board of Commissioners – who in their right mind decided to re-open a centuries old prison complex right next to a cliff overlooking an ocean that was notorious for sudden changes in wind conditions? The wind hated him tonight, blowing this almighty flood-worthy rain with it.

"No over-protective coachman tonight?" He asked, holding a large folder over his head like an umbrella as Miss Haruno exited her carriage without the aid of her driver.

Sakura shook her head, gesturing to her silent companion. "This one prefers money over personal consideration."

Truthfully, she knew her other coachman would actually try to stop her from doing this, which was why she had left him behind this time. As nervous as she was, and terrified if anyone found out, she was also determined. She'd worked herself up to this, and not going ahead would just be stupid now.

Again, upon alighting from the carriage, Sakura took in her surroundings. Where they currently stood, an awning covered the carriage, and partially protected herself from the rain; the wind was carrying it north, in a relentless sweeping motion.

"Your priest," Baki opened his arm wide, theatrically, drawing her attention to the man standing to the side and behind him. He looked stoned.

She rolled her eyes. "Let's just get this over with."

"I pulled a lot of strings to get him here," he said grumpily. "Marriage officiants in this country that are willing to keep things on the down low are hard to come by, you know."

"And you'll be well compensated," she assured him. Sakura looked around. "Where is he?"

"He's coming."

"No-one else is going to be here?" She asked apprehensively.

"If you hide behind that tree over there, you'll blend right in." She scowled at him. Baki laughed. "Relax, he's being escorted, but this particular guard doesn't speak the native tongue, nor know anything about our fair country: you're safe."

When the two figures silhouetted against the rain approached, Sakura's heart threatened to leap into her chest. How much had Gaara told Baki? The warden ran over to them to take possession of the prisoner, and Gaara shifted his stance to look at his future wife; their eyes locked, and everything around them disappeared for a moment as she lost herself in that piercing gaze. She felt like she was standing on a precipice, the wind howling around her, but with a feeling of weightlessness she couldn't explain.

Baki jogged back to Sakura, inadvertently blocking her line of sight and snapping her back to reality. "Uh, the prisoner would like me to remind you that in return for tonight's festivities you have both previously agreed to a disbursement. Personally, I think we should just get out of the rain so you two can get down to business."

Sakura nodded. "Lead the way."

She avoided Gaara's gaze as they moved out of the protection of the awning, and darted toward the prison complex. This wasn't the ideal place, but she had no romantic notions to get caught up in anyway. It turned out there was a winding path that followed the wall of the prison, completely sheltered from the rain that ended in a small, unkempt area; a pergola stood in the middle.

What the fuck was she doing? Was she really doing this? Her mother had warned her about being too attracted to boys – they held way too much control over her. A pretty face coupled with an intense stare, and she melted.

' _Snap out of it.'_

Her mother was also the kind woman who'd turned into a money hungry vampire the moment someone in the high class took notice of her. She needed to screw her head on straight, and get things moving along.

And like the heathen gods the people of the Land of Wind prayed to, the priest opened his mouth and started his sermon with talks on how fealty, fertility, and fidelity were one and the same. She didn't need to hear this. But before she could snap at the man and tell him to skip ahead, warm, calloused fingers found hers. She looked down at them, and then up at her intended, surprised. Gaara didn't smile or offer any hint as to what he was thinking, he just held her hand, held her gaze, and let the officiant rattle on.

She felt compelled to do so, too.

When everything was said and done (the vows, the signing, the exchanging of compensation for all involved), Baki clasped his hands on the _happy_ couple's shoulders, and steered them away.

"The storm is getting worse," he said. "So I've set up a room for you. No," he said, as Sakura opened her mouth to complain. "No complaining. Your horses will not be able to make the trip if you try to leave now. Not to mention you'll end up stranded in the middle of nowhere."

"We have more to discuss," Gaara told him and he nodded. The manacles had remained on his wrists throughout the entire lousy excuse for a ceremony, but now Baki moved forward to remove them.

"I have doubled the guards on patrol tonight, so don't try anything."

Sakura had a sudden concern; Baki was being awfully accommodating to this prisoner. How much had she paid him, anyway? She couldn't remember. Was it worth letting his guard down for one night? The warden unceremoniously shoved them forward, into a side door, and down a hallway.

"It's a dead end down this way," he added, looking intently at the redhead. "That means there's no escape. And I'll be on guard duty nearby all night, so don't bother trying to slip past me."

With the door closed and the sound of the storm raging in the background, Gaara wasted no time. He pressed a finger to her lips as she started to ask him if this was normal Baki behaviour, and he whispered, "Later. We only have tonight, and I plan to make it last as long as possible."

Then he was tugging at the ribbons of her corset and her daydreams exploded into full, brightly coloured reality. Sakura watched him as he started to slowly undress her. He cleaned up nice; his skin was a shade lighter than hers and unblemished, his scent (now that she was finally this close to him) reminded her of bath salts. Which made sense, given the hygiene options available in this place. She lifted her hands to grasp at his hair; the choppy locks felt soft but firm between her fingers.

He inhaled her deeply, the sound drawing her mind to what he was doing. Her dress was on the floor and she stood in her undergarments. He took a step back, gazed appreciatively then returned to removing her clothes, pushing her backwards; behind her sat a settee with fur lined bedding. When he finally shoved her down onto the lounge, she was naked. Gaara towered over her, his fingers absent-mindedly undoing his own buttons as he soaked in the sight of her.

"Beautiful…"

He climbed on top of her, not giving her time to think, to worry; she had seen all of him (if only for a moment) and he was satisfied that the heavy look she was giving him meant she liked what she saw. But Gaara was impatient. It had been so long and he wasn't sure how long he'd last – teasing her would only serve to tease and frustrate him as well, right now. They had all night, so he had time to do this right, but the first time was going to be embarrassingly fast. He lowered his lips to hers; their marriage kiss had been a mere peck compared to this. He was drowning in her, pulling her like a vortex but falling into her as she gripped him fiercely. Never had he felt so tormented and yet so at peace.

His fingers slipped between them, found her wet and quivering for him, and then dove in. She let out a strained whimper but he didn't slow his pace; he lowered his head, biting into the crook of her neck as she bucked against his fingers. Murmurs of "nyah" and "heeya" had him closing his eyes, fighting to keep control of his own body as he brought hers to nirvana. The sounds coming out of her were beyond arousing. Gaara looked down at her, and grabbed her chin to look her in the eyes. He wanted to see her when he took her. He flicked her clitoris once, smirking at her gasp, then shifted her against the covering of the settee, and slowly pushed into her. Every inch elicited a new expression, a different twisting of her facial muscles, and a deeper grunt as she took him in, wholly and completely.

She whined as he pulled out slowly, savouring the sensation as she automatically clenched around him; she wasn't expecting the possessive feel his body was giving hers. Another thrust and she was seeing stars. Sakura gripped on to the man above her, shutting her eyes tightly as she attempted not to pass out from the intensity of it all. Her body was shaking violently in time with every thrust, shuddering with every thrust, and screaming at her. And when it finally arrived, she couldn't contain the eruption if she tried; she came, hard and fast, but he didn't stop.

Gaara rode out that final wave as he brought himself to completion. She was fucking amazing. She felt so incredible. It was so overwhelming right then that he honestly couldn't remember what sex had felt like before now. He pulled her to him, rolling them over until she was on top.

"Don't fall asleep," he said as she slumped against him. "We'll be going again in a few minutes."

About five minutes later, Baki was having trouble hearing anything over the storm. He waited a few more minutes before peering into the room. This hadn't exactly gone according to plan. What he found surprised him; the girl had her arms wrapped around Gaara's neck as he nuzzled her, and groaned wantonly, their bodies moving together. Baki couldn't believe his eyes. He had expected this of course but, given the looks and touches shared between them before now, should've known they'd skip the preamble and get right to it. That old priest hadn't said anything, Gaara hadn't said anything, and Sakura hadn't said anything, but it was obvious – they wanted, no _deserved_ this night.

It just saddened him, knowing what was coming when it was all over.

The sound of the lounge scraping violently against the floor and a particularly loud cry from the rosette beauty brought him back to reality, and made him blush. He'd been staring at them and they hadn't noticed. So he closed the door behind himself softly, and decided to pretend he hadn't seen that.

 _Fils de pute_! He'd said they'd just be talking first!

Baki trusted that Gaara knew what he was doing, but by the _gods_ , he hoped this didn't come back to bite HIM in the arse.

…


	4. Chapter 4

**So...it looks like the 2nd author's note from the previous chapter accidentally got deleted. Oops.**

 **Anyway, we just wanted to remind people that this isn't a long, drawn out, 20+ chaptered story with a detailed backstory and huge arc. A reviewer got us thinking that we weren't being clear enough. Please, always read author's notes. They can be boring, superfluous or even silly, but sometimes, they ARE important.**

 **Enjoy. :)**

 **Disclaimer: c.f. chapter 1.**

…

 **Chapter 4**

 **One year later.**

It was that time of year again; the southern cold front hit them hard and fast, and the nobles in those overdone, over-sized chateaux had local lumberjacks and servants to hack down and harvest a sizable section of the neighbouring forests to keep the frigid temperatures from freezing off their assets. This meant workers were forced out into the cold at all hours, and a number of them had yet to return.

This season also heralded an influx of Lords and Ladies visiting for the upcoming, coming out ball.

And so the cycle of lower class death, in the name of slightly warmer chateaux and royal buttocks, went on. But it was a good thing the Cider Mill was stocked up – so much so that even your average townsperson was allowed to buy (or trade) them by the barrel. Cider made everything better.

Baki tightened the scarf around his face as he walked heavily, pushing against the wind lashing at his face; this was winter wind in a land already aptly named. With temperatures that would create snow in other countries (barring their closest neighbours, like Fire), they were instead bombarded with gale force winds, and frost-free frost bite. It was harder felt in smaller villages; chateaux and the like were heavily protected by man-made walls, and massive gardens.

The damn, prissy high society buggers, and their fucking sensitive **tootsies**.

The sun was disappearing over the horizon, and if he didn't hurry, he'd be joining those missing-in-action statistics. There was a small cabin in the outlying village that beckoned him forth – it had housed him for months since that incident back at the Westward Prison, since his dismissal as warden. He'd always wondered what excuse his superiors had given their superiors to lay him off like that. This was how he found himself working as a freelance jack-of-all-trades – he had the skills before becoming a prison warden, but not the people tolerance. They didn't like him much either.

He'd grown irrevocably bitter with age.

Ten minutes later, Baki pushed the door to the cabin open, cursing again at the hostile wind. With the moon peeking over the treetops he'd finally managed to make it home. Or something that resembled home, since the official glare on his record; and a daring escape it was. Speaking of convicts…

"How long are you going to hole up in here?" he asked, slamming the door shut behind himself. He didn't bother removing the multiple layers of cotton and fur garments. It was only slightly less freezing inside – just above hypothermia levels.

Gaara ignored him, not even looking up from whatever he was reading at the small table that served as their breakfast, lunch, and dinner table. The small cabin was really only suited to one person but they made do with what they had. Baki was used to more space though, as was his housemate, but things were going to change again, real soon.

The older man scoffed at the dismissal and moved to the tiny kitchen to find something to drink. Cider… yes, cider made everything better. Fuck the rum rations and cheap gin. "Have you heard from you-know-who yet?"

"He says you're late."

Baki glanced at him. "And what makes him say that?"

"He's sending his friend instead."

"Damn, and I had my coattails all picked out and everything."

Gaara scoffed, still not looking at him. Naruto wanted eyes on the upcoming débutante ball but was getting impatient, since his only Wind friend was reluctant to show himself in polite society.

"The nerve of him," Baki continued sarcastically. "Thinking you'd want to see those people again. What did that girl from your brother's harem call you last year?"

" _Honte_."

Baki laughed. If the girl hadn't been Kankuro's latest (and therefore favourite) addition, she'd have been out in the cold after that one. The smallest thing in so-called polite society could get a person ousted, whether anyone had been genuinely offended or not. "Good times, good times; so…you going?"

"No."

"And why not?"

Gaara didn't want to broach this subject with him. Baki had met Sakura, he knew what had happened, and was the only other living person who knew the redhead was legally married. He also knew how tenuous his current situation was. Why get into it?

"She's already asking questions," Gaara said, instead.

"She? As in 'the moon to your pie', she?"

Gaara glared at him. "Shut up."

"And you're worried she'll find out you're alive and well?"

"My father's been watching me closely. I don't want her involved."

The older man lifted his head and sniffed the cup of cider in his hand dramatically. "Excuses." He downed the drink, filled it up again (there was no cellar in this place of course, so the barrels were kept in the kitchen pantry), then walked over to his friend. "Excuses, excuses, and more bullshit."

Gaara frowned at him as the man sat down across from him. "You know what he would do to her."

"You know you're embellishing his disappointment in you, right?"

"…"

"Because, you got her into this, even as oblivious as she is."

"I know."

"Her name is on the list of unattached ladies for the coming out ball."

Gaara gripped the quill in his hand tighter. "I **know**."

"You can't avoid her forever, and the longer you wait–"

"I **know** , old man!"

Baki chuckled. He wasn't afraid of Gaara, not any more; that shipped sailed once he got to know him, years ago. He really was just a teddy bear under all that snarling and growling. He smirked at him. "So…know where you're headed next?"

"Don't think he won't come for you too." The redhead refused to change the subject.

"You escaped en route to your untimely not-well-thought-out execution, and not while in my custody," Baki said. "Nothing to do with me."

"So, you still work there, then?"

"Shut it."

Baki had ruined his career to save Gaara, and the redhead still felt guilty. But he still couldn't resist teasing him.

The older man feigned resignation. "Fine, since you want to talk about it – get your arse over there."

Gaara smiled. The parchment he'd been going over was a letter from Naruto, telling him all about Sakura's woes and plans, and how he was sure she'd been mourning someone but she wouldn't tell him who, and blah, blah, blah. It really was time for him to make his dramatic reappearance he supposed, and at least at the ball, it would be on his own terms.

' _How easily I go with the wind,'_ he thought dryly. "You're coming with me," he added smugly.

Baki looked down at his own clothes. "You expect me to get all dolled up like one of those prissy girls?"

Gaara chuckled.

"I thought you were avoiding her?"

"Not like that."

Baki shrugged. "Whatever you say."

Tiny niggling doubts had nagged at Gaara for a year; should he have gone to get her as soon as he was free, or was he right to keep his father's watchful eye far away from the woman he'd married in secret? Technically, they'd eloped, and saying "I do" and fucking her senseless… well, he'd had a good night, and it had seemed like a great idea at the time (although his reasons for doing it were decidedly impure and spiteful). The part of his brain that thought he shouldn't have married her was the one that lamented over the fact that he'd not bedded anyone since. He was no adulterer. But he'd fucked her to get his release, only to go celibate after the fact. He was a god damned idiot.

Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to put her out of his head, and if there was one thing he knew for sure in this world, it was that his emotions were his true weakness, not his physical urges. Not that he'd ever admit that out loud. Still, it bothered him…

"She's going to hate me."

"You don't know that."

Gaara shook his head. "I do."

Their connection had been mutual; he wasn't stupid. How would he feel a year after thinking she'd died only to find out that she'd faked her death and not come to see him? He'd rage. He'd want to kill something. Anything to stop himself from taking it out on her. Gods, he was pathetic.

"She won't want to talk to me."

Baki scoffed. "Stop being a baby: You won't know until you try. You might even find it easy."

Right. It was easy. Just walk up to her and pretend the last twelve months never happened. Gaara frowned, watching as Baki stood up again, to get more cider. He'd drink all the cider in the region if people let him. Still, he owed him his life. He owed Sakura an explanation. He owed so many people. One night in the limelight to make it all right again wouldn't hurt…would it?

.

.

" _Entrez donc!_ " Ino Yamanaka squealed, flinging open the door to let the dress maid into Sakura's chambers, and clapping her hands together excitedly. The young servant gave a curtsey to her and addressed her formally, but she was more interested in the designer clothes rack the elderly woman who was following her in was pushing along. She had to be a seamstress, or something. "I can't believe this!"

Sakura rolled her eyes. "What exactly, can you not believe?"

"That this is actually happening, silly."

"The ball or the dresses?"

"Both."

"Great." Sakura grunted in disgust. "Six months of courting, then engaged for six months, and finally married in the next winter."

"Or not," Ino said, winking.

"Right, then if we're not satisfied, we can go through it all again."

"You're such a stick in the mud. Stop moping, and start getting prepared." Ino waved her hand majestically at the clothes rack.

"Yes, my mother sending me racks of clothes instead of letting me be seen in a public venue to get a dress custom fit to me is _amazing_."

Ino waved her hand about, carelessly this time. "Forget all the other idiots for a while and just be a _girl_ , Sakura."

"This isn't even for you," Sakura said, sitting up on her bed now. "Why are you so excited?"

"You can have one of these dresses lengthened or taken in to fit you." She was ignoring her now. "I mean, it is so _passé_ but when no-one else cares, why should you?"

Groaning, Sakura fell back on her bed, closing her eyes to the hideous ceiling.

"Well, if you won't avail yourself of this lovely collection," Ino said tentatively. "Then it couldn't hurt for me to try them on."

"Go ahead."

Sakura blocked out Ino's hurried conversation with the servants. She couldn't help the bubble of fear that settled like a heavy stone in the pit of her stomach when she thought of the upcoming coming out ball (débutante ball, marriage mart, whatever). There was only one of-age male she'd ever thought of _that_ way (and especially given her distaste for marriage itself), and he wasn't even an option any more.

It had been a dream, she'd told herself repeatedly for almost a year. He wasn't real, he didn't exist; her societal problems didn't exist, and she hadn't lost her virginity to a cliché like bad boy, with the body of the god of love that could put even Adonis himself to shame. Nope, no redheaded temptation whispering sweet nothings in her ear while he took her in the most licentious fashion, bringing her body to pure bliss. Multiple times. There were no intense jade eyes that made her feel like the rest of the world was just a swirling vortex of nothingness, either.

She had her life ahead of her, and was mere days away from realising true, monetary freedom. Not literal freedom of course – _that_ would not require a husband, nor her appearance at this stupid coming out ball. Her step-father had taken her whirlwind marriage seriously and let her off the hook, but ultimately, Sakura needed to just get out of the Land of Wind.

Naruto had promised to help her get out of the country, and Sakura was waiting on him. It all sounded so hush-hush, but the blond idiot had promised her so much. There was a lot of **that** going around. She was only going to this stupid ball because she'd promised Ino twelve months ago, as well.

She really needed to stop worrying over other people.

Sakura was going to go crazy thinking about all the men who _weren't_ going to ask her to dance at that fiasco. Because there was nothing in front of her that she wanted. Nothing that was real. Because real men don't hang for stealing horses. Real men attend balls and scope out all the women who are of age to choose a bride from…

Sakura groaned, waving her arms and legs about in aggravation.

"What is wrong with you?" Ino's voice grated on her nerves.

Sakura sat up haughtily, and glared at her. "This whole thing is barbaric!"

Her friend raised an eyebrow at her. "Right," she said sarcastically.

The blonde turned back to the designer clothes rack, pulling out a peach coloured gown, and looked up at the servants waiting patiently beside it. "This is a _Worth_ design?" The women both nodded and Ino squealed again, excited, but Sakura could only hide a grimace. It was revolting.

Ino was the only person she'd told about her pseudo husband. She didn't know everything though – the blonde still believed it had been a whirlwind romance that ended in tragedy, but at least knew Sakura had known the man was dying when she married him. She also believed her pink haired friend had fallen for him.

Sakura sighed, watching impatiently as Ino darted behind the partition to try the gown on. While it was true that she hadn't known Gaara long enough to form any lasting connection with him, she'd looked into repealing his sentence and fantasised about breaking him out, and them running away together. He'd been obtuse and lascivious, but he was interesting company at least. Incredibly handsome and physically appealing; it still made her blush, to this day, how he'd elicited such reactions from her body. And how, despite her inner turmoil over everything, she still missed him.

Shortly after sleeping with him, she'd returned to the penitentiary with hopes of speaking to him again (and no idea what she was going to do or say) only to hear from Baki that he'd been shipped to the Northward Prison that morning – the one where the executions always took place. (The Westward complex just didn't get the funding to hire a proper executioner, apparently.) He was long gone. She'd left in tears; proper tears, respectable tears for someone of her station, but tears nonetheless. She'd mourned, sulked and moped for months before Ino had had enough, and literally slapped her back to reality. This was her life now. She had to impress some boring, rich suitor, and move on.

' _But what if I don't want to?'_

She sighed again, brushing her hands along the hem of her jacket unnecessarily as she sat up on the edge of her bed, waiting for Ino to finish dressing. She had put off finding the perfect gown, childishly hoping everything would just stop and she could pretend it wasn't coming.

"I can't believe I've been so distracted lately," Ino's voice carried over to her. "I haven't found my gown either."

"That would happen when you dally with the young men in the gardens all day."

" _Bonne_!" Ino ignored her. The maid dutifully stepped behind the partition to help her. "I'm going to have to have this fitted," she said. "That's acceptable, isn't it? I wouldn't want to upset your timetable with Sakura."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good."

"You've found your dress?" Sakura asked hopefully.

"Yep."

"That was fast."

"Shut it. I'll have you know I've been visiting fitters all week."

Sakura sighed. Her own demise couldn't come and pass fast enough. This was going to be so humiliating.

A few minutes later, Ino was standing on the foot stool and grinning like a kid in a candy store as the seamstress went to work on her gown. On the rack it had looked hideous, but as she watched the kindly old woman pin and shape it to Ino's body, Sakura decided it fitted her nicely; it was quite beautiful now.

"You're going to give yourself premature wrinkles," Ino warned her.

"Too late. It's genetic."

The blonde laughed. "Are you still not going to say goodbye to your mother? You know, when you leave, and...uh...are happily married?"

Sakura glanced at the seamstress warily. She didn't want to talk about this in front of the old woman. Ino knew she wanted out of the country, after all. "Uh, sure. I'll be happy, so what do I need her for?"

She winced at her own wording and the seamstress "tutted" lightly, but said nothing.

Anxiously, Sakura stood and stretched her arms and legs. She idly wondered what would happen if she just got in her carriage and took off – perhaps that coachman who seemed to think she was like his little sister could be convinced to help (he still wouldn't tell her his full name because apparently, that would be unseemly). When she did get away, she'd have to dye her hair, change her name and start all over again, but Naruto already had everything lined up for her, and maybe she could join his little rebels and start doing something right for a change. Despite her best intentions, she didn't feel like she was making much difference here.

Her 'charity' had hit a dead-end and this time it wasn't money she needed to bail it out.

Her eyes drifted to the window and she wandered over to it. Her guest room was high over the courtyard (this was the king's castle, as the unattached men and women traditionally roomed here for the festivities), just like her room back home...

Sakura frowned as she spotted a familiar silhouette walking slowly across the courtyard by himself. All week people had been arriving at this dismal castle in preparation for the high society version of an auction block, but him… she hadn't figured out what he was really here for. He was Naruto's friend (which spoke volumes in the winter events he'd chosen to attend so far), and not the epitome of high class trash of this country, according to the boisterous knuckle-head. But despite his foreign status, he'd certainly gathered a lot of attention; Ino in particular was ecstatic to meet someone foreign who was actually cultured. And hot. She was quick to point out how dashing he looked in Wind attire (from his frock coats to stunning jackets), and spoke of it often.

Ino started humming and Sakura rolled her eyes at the matrimonial tune. But she found herself unable to look away from the man many feet below her, following his movements with her eyes, and wondering if it wouldn't be so bad, being engaged to the youngest Lord of the Uchiha Clan.

.

.

It was finally happening.

The coming out ball was about to start, and already he was nervous. Staring out over the main ball room, Gaara was also becoming impatient. He'd slipped into the castle through the west side door (the one adjacent to the servant's entrance, and across from the more private cigar room) as the guests were making their way to the main event, and was eager to get this party started. The hallways had been troublesome as he'd taken detours to avoid servants, and felt self-conscious the entire time. There was no way he was going to let anyone see him enter.

Watching from overhead, he leant on the bannister, his eyes roaming the king's main ballroom irritably.

Where the bloody hell was she?

Their host took the stage, said a few words, and then motioned to those who were still gathering. Gaara perked up as the ladies began filing in. This was the king's winter castle so there was plenty of room to fit the many, overdone dresses that glared at him as he searched them for one in particular. She was the only one with pink hair, coming out in front of a tall blonde who reminded him of someone he couldn't quite place.

Sakura.

He stared at her, soaking her in. It had been over a year. Her dress was a designer gown, and clearly tailored to flatter her body; a soft Tiffany Blue, the gown surprisingly didn't clash with her hair – the latter had been pulled back into an elaborate chignon bun, adorned with a single comb and flower.

He watched her being paraded in, the majority of the ladies who stood near her whispering behind their hands, and the gentlemen trying not to look like they were exasperated. Baki had told him all about her reputation but it was one thing to hear about it, and quite another to see it in action. He scowled at them; if he had the power, Gaara would extradite them all. Or bury them in Wind's largest sandstorm. Either one. Or maybe both.

With that image in mind he smiled to himself, descending the stairs to the side of the balcony, and down to their level, wearing his very best waistcoat and trousers, complete with dinner jacket; he had never been to a débutante ball before but figured the normal, formal attire he was used to would do. He was further assured when the only looks he got from the crowd as he made his way through them were appraising, the occasional eyelash batting, and some startled looks of recognition. Not to mention that he hadn't bothered to cover up the tattoo he'd gotten on his forehead as a child that these people seemed to conveniently forget he had, year after year.

Gaara didn't bother stopping to talk to the ones who made slight, curious moves to intercept him, and ignored them all entirely. He had only one goal, and she was off to the side, already looking bored.

The music tempo was increasing, and the men and woman began their annual courting ritual. He took a flute of champagne from a passing waiter as they passed each other, downed it in one go, and handed it to another server just as quickly. Gods, he was so nervous and she was so very radiantly beautiful, and the nearby torchlight just seemed to make her glow. Gaara had waited a year for this, abstaining, watching from afar; the desire he felt on seeing her again brought it all back to him. And he **wanted** her all over again.

It was finally time.

 **...**

 **As usual, please review. XD**


	5. Chapter 5

**Ah! I [** IridescentInTheDark **] have been very busy and forgot to post this. It should've been posted hours ago.**

 **Sorry!**

 **Anon about Sakura saying French words: Yes! Every now and then, the Wind high society people of this story add a little French in there...we decided it would give them a fancier tone. Did it work? Are you impressed? ;) But seriously, it's just more like fancy slang. Think of it like that. The influences for the world that this fic is set in are from both French and British regency eras. We never discussed addressing this point in any author's notes, but, eh. Anyway. Enjoy! XD**

 **Disclaimer: c.f. chapter 1.**

…

 **Chapter 5**

It was finally time.

Everything she'd been dreading the past twelve months was about to be realised. The obligation to kowtow to the elite of society; she was in for a fun filled evening where she would be glared at, patronised by her so-called _supérieurs_ , or otherwise ignored.

Yeah. Fun.

And she could've avoided this, too.

The freedom she'd gained from her façade of a marriage had allowed her far less time than she'd wanted, but precisely how long she'd expected. It was winter again, the invitations had gone out, the gardens were immaculate, and the king's horsemen were paid handsomely to retrieve them all. On paper, it sounded like a dream come true – and it was, for many. This was the famed débutante ball.

Sakura was single, she was rich, but the n _ouveau riche_ title still hung over her head, even if she was now a widow. And because she was still of marrying age, post-mourning, she was expected to be here. No woman was supposed to be without a husband for an extended period of time, unless she had already produced heirs. Apparently.

 _'Tomorrow can not come fast enough.'_

Tomorrow.

Sakura closed her eyes, thinking about her escape plans. Ino was adamant about being the one to cause the distraction, assuring her pinkette friend that she would bare no lasting repercussions from being found frolicking in the gardens with the _monsieur_ of her choice.

If tonight proved fruitful and Ino found "the one", that is. Or, given her proclivity for indecisiveness, just "the one" for tonight only.

" _Just make sure to write me, to tell me you're safe."_

That was her friend's only demand.

But, given the year-long delay, Sakura wondered wistfully if she was actually too scared to run – to leave and just take her chances trying to get over the border, instead of making excuses why she couldn't go yet. After all, no-one wanted to be stranded in a foreign country, alone, and with hair that screamed "foreigner". But this had been her life for years now, and it baffled her to no end that she'd literally **let** it get this bad.

But running had never been off the cards. It was definitely still on.

Sakura sighed deeply, and the scent of champagne hit her nose before she realised where it was coming from; the flowery aroma had a hint of pepper to it, and a dash of lemon. It smelt delicious. She lifted her nose into the air, angling her head to better inhale the tempting aroma, before spotting the nearby waiter. She wasn't a big drinker, but the smell of the high class brands never failed to make her thirsty. The fruity drinks were almost always grape or barley flavoured, while the harder liquors she'd tried tasted heavy of apple – cider being a popular example of a drink originating among the poor, that the rich had learned to love.

She was **really** thirsty now.

"Move along there, missy."

The voice of her best friend was both sarcastic and impatient; a poke in her side pushed Sakura along. Ino was walking behind the pinkette in the line of primped up, unattached ladies parading single file into the ballroom. Sakura rather thought male peacocks displaying themselves during their mating season was a more suitable analogy; the state of the flower blossoms in her Wind home garden was a testament to how brutal those birds could be. All but the actual blossom in this line, however, were very excited about this particular display.

Sakura looked around as they filed in, ignoring the ladies whispering behind their hands, and the gentlemen with their exasperated expressions; if her eyes lingered on their faces for long she might scowl. Or cry. She wasn't sure which, yet.

 _'Why did I let Ino talk me into this?'_

This was humiliating.

Ino squeezed Sakura's hand before moving away to mingle. She would have no problem – Ino's father was a Marquess, and any man that nabbed her tonight, would be elevated, depending on his prior rank. Basically, the blonde bombshell now striding elegantly across the ballroom in the burgundy gown that Sakura had initially thought would look bad on her but seemed to highlight her fair skin, rosy cheeks, and gorgeous figure, was a gold mine to the men tonight.

Sakura almost wished she was in that position right now. If only to avoid feeling like a dressed up, but unwanted prostitute.

With the attention now on the brightly lit room, the soft tones of the orchestra that was playing, and the fact that they were here to secure their futures, the prissy upper echelon soon forgot about the _n_ _ouveau riche_ girl.

Sakura felt the weight of the stares ease and figured she might as well find the buffet table, or a wine barrel or two, and settle in for a while. She'd promised Ino an hour, but never promised she'd spend it sober. At least now she could do so, tucked away in a corner.

One day, this was going to all just be a bad dream.

From her hidey-hole, her eyes travelled over to the other belle of the ball, Sasuke Uchiha. The women who were watching or following him were hovering for one reason – to get into his pants. Well, to buy his pants rather than rent them. Fortunately, he did seem bored by them, for the most part. He indulged those who were trying to talk without batting their eyelashes at him, though his eyes wandered, and Sakura spotted him running a hand inappropriately along the hips or backside of a couple of the more attractive, non-eye fluttering girls.

He wasn't making any dance offers yet, but it was only a matter of time.

 _'Am I actually considering him?'_

Realistically, Sakura wasn't going to leave this ball any less single than she currently was, so why did the idea of becoming engaged to Sasuke keep popping into her head? She was leaving Wind soon, and he'd have to return to Fire – maybe that was it. He was from Fire too, and her addled brain thought that connection was more important than reality.

Damn it. She was already so bored, bored stiff, bored to tears that she actually thought Sasuke Uchiha, of all people, would even deign to speak to her at this event.

Idiot.

Sakura was just considering sneaking out toward the terrace when a flash of red caught her eye. The sea of insipid guests suddenly parted to make way for the man – his rusty coloured hair stood out among the pallid colours of those around him and instinctively, her eyes were drawn to that peculiar symbol on his forehead.

She never did ask him what it meant.

What the **fuck**?

She hadn't drunk enough to be hallucinating yet.

Then it dawned on her, and a wave of emotion hit her as she struggled to breathe; time seemed to slow to a stop, and the rest of the world fell away. Just like when they'd first touched, first kissed, and first connected more intimately than she'd ever connected with a man before. All of a sudden, she vividly recalled what he felt like; his fingers ghosting over her skin, his lips on hers, his body buried deep inside her own.

It was that last thought that snapped her out of her reverie, and her eyes widened as he walked toward her; her brain seemed to short circuit and she gaped at him.

" _Bonjour, mon chérie femme_."

His deep, husky voice sent a shiver down her spine that she couldn't hide. What the **hell** was going on?

This person who looked a lot like Gaara bowed to her, like a gentry would, and wearing the formal attire that the other gentry at this ball were wearing – why did he look so perfect like this? Why did he look so unlike the criminal she'd propositioned, but identical to the man she'd married?

She still couldn't work her mouth to respond. What was he doing here? Was she dreaming? Did she faint and start hallucinating?

His smirk was as gorgeous as she remembered too, as he seemed content to wait for the shock to slip away with her sanity.

He couldn't be real.

Without thinking, she reached out and poked him in the chest. He felt real. But he couldn't be.

"You're not real," she whispered, finally, her voice throaty. "You don't exist."

"Really?"

She shook her head. No, he couldn't be. Gaara was standing close now; she closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. She could smell that masculine scent, which was a sharp contrast to the soapy smell of their night together, but still so _him_. Daydreams couldn't hurt her, right?

"And do you daydream about me often?"

Her eyes snapped open. Had she said that out loud? She was sure it was just in her head. Right, because he was just a part of her imagination, so of course he what she was thinking.

' _Gods.'_ Crazy.

"You know the answer to that," she said.

He smirked. "It is written all over your face." He brushed a finger against her chin like he was wiping away tears, and she jerked. "I'm real."

"You're dead," she snapped.

He lost his smirk, his face sobering. But the next moment, he was smiling again.

"Can the dead do this?" He snaked an arm around her waist, dropped his hand to her rear, and squeezed her arse.

Sakura let out a small yelp, slapped at his hand, and glared at him incredulously. "Watch it, jerk!"

His smile turned into a smirk, and he squeezed her arse again.

They stared at each other, her blush deepening, his smirk becoming more pronounced, and Sakura realised how ridiculous she was being. She looked away, letting her eyes roam over the crowd of dancers while her heart raced. A few indignant looks were thrown her way, a few curious stares at Gaara; sure, okay, he was real. She didn't know how to respond to that.

Inside though, Sakura suddenly felt like raging. Where had he been? What was he doing here? What the fuck was he doing, period? Was this all a game to him?

But this was not the place to scream such things – even someone as uncultured as her could figure **that** out.

She clenched her fists, balling them tightly against her dress, and tried to calm herself. It wouldn't do to let her temper get the best of her. She was better than this.

But, she couldn't process this. Sakura had spent hours fretting, days looking over his case, and months pining after a dead man. _She couldn't do this_. She had to turn away from him. It was an effort and a half but she owed it to herself. Her body was very much aware that he was still right next to her, but she forced her mind to focus. They were still attracting the occasional stare, but for the most part, people were ignoring them. They were more interested in their own peacock mating rituals, after all.

Her eyes eventually found Sasuke again, and she smiled slightly at the slightly disgruntled look on his face – some brown haired girl wearing a gown of the same horrific shade as her hair had hung her arm over his, and was whispering in his ear. His face tinged pink a moment later, and Sakura bit her lip to keep from laughing. He wasn't the most forward man she'd ever encountered, but if Naruto was right, he wasn't easily embarrassed either. Beside her, Gaara cleared his throat.

"Really," he said, pretending to sound shocked. "Salivating over an unmarried man across a ballroom that you've never spoken to before? What would people think?"

"We've spoken," she said defensively.

He had been a guest here all week, just as she had, leading up to the ball. It might not have been a full-blown conversation, but words had been exchanged. Not to mention they had a very important, mutual friend in a very obnoxious blond boy.

Gaara sneered, his eyes flickering over to the oblivious raven haired man. He clenched his fists to keep from grabbing her roughly. The way she was looking at this insignificant Fire noble made him want to storm over there and sucker punch the ponce. Knowing that Sakura wouldn't appreciate it if he did knock the Uchiha out, Gaara couldn't help the resentment that dripped from every syllable as he whispered to her. "And does he know you're not pure?"

She scoffed. "Like the rest of those vapid whores are?"

She was getting on his nerves too. But this unintimidated version Sakura Haruno that was just now rearing its head was surprisingly, very attractive. So he stared. His hand slipped from her arse to the small of her back, where no-one could see it, and he just kept looking at her.

Sakura sighed. "Stop staring at me, people are going to wonder–"

"Wonder what? I would think you didn't care what these people thought of you."

"I don't." Sakura hissed under her breath. "But I'm not here for me, and..."

She trailed off, her eyes drifting toward Ino now, realising she'd said too much – the blonde was dancing with a man that didn't seem to know the difference between waist and hips, her eyes rolling every few seconds. If Sakura was going to survive this night, she couldn't tell Gaara what she and Ino were planning. She needed to put this entire debacle behind her. His consistent presence wasn't helping.

His eyes narrowed as her words sunk in. Why was she here, then? "If you're not planning to marry any of these dolts, then what does it matter if I'm–"

"And what would you have me do?" She whispered harshly back at him. "Admit I married a prisoner on death row so I could use the certificate for my step-father's money, only for said prisoner to magically reappear a year later?" She turned her head slightly to look at him without being obvious. "And while we're on that subject, how are you even here?"

"You mean, why am I alive?" She nodded. Gaara faked a hurt expression. "You wound me, dear wife."

"Don't call me that."

"We're still married," he reminded her.

"That could easily change."

"But it won't," he assured her. "I have no intention of letting you go." Not this time.

She groaned again, rolling her eyes. "And why not?"

"Maybe I like you," he said.

"You don't even know me."

"That could easily change." He threw her words back at her and she couldn't help but smile.

And, she was admittedly torn about that. For one thing, possessiveness in a guy was _never_ a good thing, no matter how coveted it made her feel, and for another, this had been her dream for twelve months. She might have fooled herself into thinking she could move on one day, but that day wasn't today. In fact, that day was so far ahead it wasn't even a blurry figure in the distance during a cliché moment of enlightenment. She still wanted him, she still remembered what it was like to be held by him, and she could never forget that feeling of fullness with him deep inside of her.

She trembled at the thought: **desire**.

But this whole thing had the potential to blow up in her face. What was she going to tell her mother? Would Ino even speak to her again? And Naruto…he had a way of making her feel bad for not confiding in him all the time, just by giving her his well-rehearsed puppy dog look. It was almost enough to make her walk out of this ballroom now, and just disappear from everything and everyone – her plans with Ino be damned.

"It's been a year," she said instead. "Why should I care?"

His slid the hand groping her back down, entwining their fingers instead; it reminded her of how he'd held her hand during their vows so strongly, and she tried in vain to calm herself. Sakura returned his strong grip, holding his hand tightly without stopping to think about it.

"You care," he said softly. "Just like I do."

"Then where have you _been_?" She asked desperately. Sakura swallowed heavily as tears threatened to spill; she was wearing the wrong kind of make-up for this. She needed to calm down.

He couldn't answer that. Not yet. Even though she deserved to know the truth – this wasn't the place for such things. The shock at his silence registered on her face for a moment before she let go of his hand, and walked away from him.

And he let her.

He wasn't going to rush after her like Baki had insisted he should (since when was that man such a romantic?). She was stubborn and feisty, not **easy**. If possible, this made him want her even more. A rush of pride at the woman he hadn't meant to develop feelings for surged through him. She could give his sister a run for her money, and Temari was the most stubborn mule he'd ever known.

Thinking of his family made him frown, and he glanced over at the small stage where the orchestra was playing. Personally, he was partial to more baroque pieces, but the slow waltz tempo was more appropriate for people trying to find a monetary partner in the guise of emotional interest, he supposed.

This had never been his kind of party, anyway.

So he just watched her, giving her the space she so desperately craved. Even though he knew he hadn't ignored her for a year without good reason, he still felt guilty. She could take however long she wanted, he wasn't going to run off this time.

Sakura struggled not to look behind her, to the man boring holes into her back.

He hadn't given her a reason for the full twelve months of mourning, the cold, lonely nights she'd wondered how it could've gone if she'd saved him...

Honestly, she just needed to get some distance from him. It was too surreal still. He was here. He was alive. Her heart was beating faster every time she thought about looking over at him – to her detriment, as she finally succumbed, and noticed that he still couldn't keep his eyes off of her, making her heart race even faster. At this rate, she was going to faint.

But something was telling her to get away from him – the same something that was trying to make logical sense of the news that her husband was alive and well and looked so at home among the nobles she hated.

She just... Sakura held a hand over her chest. She just needed to breathe. To think. She couldn't focus around him. Not like this.

Why, why, oh why was he even **here** of all places?

There was more to this arrogant, gorgeous swot than she could ever imagined, but she couldn't imagine what that mysterious thing could be.

She noticed that smell again; whipping her head around, Sakura found the waiter that she'd seen before this peacock-like mating display had started, and eyed off the drinks on his serving tray. She plucked a champagne tulip glass off of him as he passed, inhaling the deep, rich aroma before throwing her head back, and drinking it all in one go.

Maybe getting drunk was the way to go about this, after all.

Sakura's musings over her imminent intoxication were interrupted when the orchestra suddenly stopped playing.

Right, the king's speech.

In every invitation to this ball, there had been mention of him making an important speech – one that supposedly affected Wind's future. Interesting enough, she'd felt mildly intrigued, but quickly dismissed it. Who cared what he had to say?

Pfft! **She** certainly didn't!

Sakura was tempted to use this distraction to sneak out of the room, bolt to her guest boudoir, pack her clothes, and just run away into the night. Ino would forgive her, one day. The blonde would eventually understand. She just **had** to get out of here.

She smirked deviously.

Yes. That was a plan she could follow.

Blocking out the king's voice, Sakura gripped her empty glass almost protectively as she glanced around furtively to make sure she was indeed away from prying eyes, and turned slightly, checking out the options for her route of escape.

Even Gaara seemed to suddenly be transfixed by what the king was saying – honestly, Sakura didn't bother listening to him – and by the look on the redhead's face, it wasn't a pretty speech.

She moved slowly, having spotted the bottom of the staircase that led to the balcony – she figured there was a safer way to get out of this wing through there, than pushing her way through the crowd to take the only ground level exit she had noticed.

"Lord Gaara..."

Sakura's head snapped around at the sound of Gaara's name... being spoken by the king.

His royal majesty's arm was outstretched; Sakura inevitably found Gaara among the crowd as it parted for him, much in the same way it had done earlier.

The king smiled down at Gaara. "I'm happy to welcome back to our noble court, and grant the title of _prince du sang,_ to my youngest child, and son, Lord Gaara."

 _'P_ _rince du sang.'_

Sakura felt like puking.

Gaara was the wayward son she'd heard about several years ago – but not by name – of the reigning King Rasa. The redhead was the subject of multiple scandals, amongst many who feared, admired, loved, or hated him in Wind.

He was...

Sakura felt the urge to puke now rising up in her throat.

No.

The king...his eyes swept over the ballroom methodically, found the bright green eyes of Lady Sakura Haruno, and stopped. Those dark eyes bore into hers, and Sakura found herself unable to turn away. The king didn't even blink, his face stern; he lifted a hand to wave away some official who'd stepped forward to whisper in his ear, and then narrowed his eyes at the pink haired woman looking back at him.

Holy shit.

 **...**

 **Yes we know; it's no surprise that Gaara's the son of the king. Blah, blah, blah. The intention was to surprise Sakura, not you lovely people. But if you were... ;) Anyway, you know what to do now. Review! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Late again… (sigh)**

 **To** SanctuaryFive **:** **We've seen stories on this site with the same premise as** Di Esistere **, but not in the GaaSaku pairing, no. It's a shame. There are a lot of good tropes in other pairings we wish could have GaaSaku versions. :/**

 **Anyway, enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: c.f. chapter 1.**

…

 **Chapter 6**

 _Those dark eyes bore into hers and Sakura found herself unable to turn away. The king didn't even blink, his face stern; he lifted a_ _hand to wave away some official who'd stepped forward to whisper in his ear, and then narrowed his eyes at the pink haired woman looking back at him._

Sakura broke the stare by closing her eyes and tilting her head to the side, and blinked heavily.

What the hell was he staring at, anyway?

She spotted a waiter, thinking of the empty glass in her hands, but didn't move toward him. It felt like a heavy weight was pressing in on her as she was still very much aware of the gaze of the king on her as his voice rang out in the ballroom again.

She chanced a glance upward.

Apparently, his speech wasn't over.

Instinctively, Sakura pressed herself into the small space between a column jutting out from the wall behind her, and the over-designed wall itself, trying to look as unimposing as possible. She hated being stared at.

Fortunately, she wasn't interesting enough to maintain the king's attention, and he continued with his speech. She couldn't get his voice out of her head as he talked about his family with the same bored tone as someone making small-talk on the weather.

"...and many of you have not seen him for over a year; he has been honouring the family name and defending our great country in the Imperial Guard. Now he has returned to the court as the newly instated _prince du sang_ , and it is with the greatest pleasure that I reintroduce to all my friends tonight, my youngest son," he made a sweeping motion toward the crowd, "Lord Gaara."

The attendees applauded appropriately, but Sakura's eyes were now fixed on Gaara's scowling face. It wasn't the look of a man grateful for his father's attentions, and it worried her. He obviously didn't want to be called on like this and she could just imagine him flipping his father off and storming out. Maybe. Well, maybe she wanted to see him do it.

Sakura almost dropped her empty glass as Gaara lost his scowl, and started walking through the parted crowd and toward the podium where the king stood. To everyone else, she imagined it looked like a normal family reunion; his body was still tense however, and she remembered what he'd said about his father trying to kill him.

So… this was him playing nice with his attempted murderer.

She blinked heavily, tuning out all the airs King Rasa was putting on, and glanced at the faces of the other two people standing on either side of him. The tall, blonde woman had to be Temari – in title, _Princesse_ Temari – while the dark haired man was clearly Kankuro – the Heir Apparent, or Dauphin Kankuro. But no matter what they were called, neither of them looked very happy about this display either.

Sakura was just debating whether or not this qualified as all-time perfect distraction (the logical part of her brain had finally started working again), when something occurred to her.

She was very, very, very stupid.

How did the youngest, infamous son of the reigning king, go from being a part of the richest family in three countries, to having a fake execution over a stolen horse?

She tried to wrap her head around it. He was… she was… they were… she'd married a prince. Or really high-lord maybe, given Rasa's introduction. (She never could get a handle on the airs, and right peerage to use, when, where and how.)

It didn't matter. She **really** needed to try getting out of here. But… Sakura felt her heart jolt a little, staring up at Gaara. How could she leave, knowing what was happening to him? She couldn't decide what to do.

Either way, the gods seemed intent on torturing her, and Sasuke Uchiha (or whatever his title was – who cared?), had really bad timing.

Sakura spotted him quickly – he stood out all of a sudden, maybe because he wasn't watching the so-called family display, but instead, he was looking straight at her.

She frowned, watching with improper fascination as **the** Sasuke Uchiha walked toward her intently; he wasn't smiling, but she took a moment to admire the craftsmanship of his **fine** tailcoat and trousers as he bowed to her upon approach.

How… gentlemanly.

Those nice, well-defined cheekbones of his came into full view as he rose from his bow to greet her properly.

" _Bonsoir_ ," he said, startling her out of her reverie. " _Je m'appelle Monsieur_ Uchiha."

Okay, she could do this.

" _Enchanté_." Sakura deliberately left out the required return greeting Ino had taught her, and kept her arms tucked into her sides instead of offering her hand to him.

His eyebrows rose in surprise, but he didn't complain. Good. She knew he was a friend of Naruto's and therefore didn't like Wind any more than the knuckle head did, but Sasuke was cultured, intelligent, and well educated. He knew very well what she was supposed to say and do.

Sakura smiled; even though she liked him (but how much, she'd never figured out), it felt forced. "Lord Uchiha–"

"Please." Sasuke shook his head at her. "My older brother is Lord Uchiha."

Right.

Sakura had heard about Itachi – the Uchiha heir was well-known and well loved, and from everything she'd heard about him from Naruto (another fan of his), it was deserved. She assumed a second brother would be bitter about his sibling garnering more attention though, but there was no trace of petulance in Sasuke's tone of voice.

His family was very different from the nobles in Wind.

The Uchiha patriarch, Fugaku, was the Duke of Okayama (a territorial title), which gave his eldest son Itachi the title of Marquess, while Sasuke's title wouldn't supersede Lord (however, addressing them individually in conversation was different again). The appropriate titles in Fire were a little more formal than Wind, but at least Sakura wouldn't be dragged over the proverbial coals for making mistakes in Sasuke's address.

She thought about that.

Sakura tried to remember Sasuke's verbal title address as he raised an eyebrow at her; his mouth twitched like he was holding back a smirk, seemingly with no intention of helping her. Her confusion amused him.

Why were all the good looking ones arseholes?

"Lord... Sasuke?" She asked, finally remembering reading somewhere about using given names for second born sons.

He smirked at her questioning tone, but nodded, a patronising expression crossing his face.

She sighed.

 _'Arsehole.'_

Oh well.

"And you are Lady Sakura," he said.

He bowed slightly again, and she couldn't hold back a small giggle. Even though she was only related to the Baron of Sapporo (her mother's new husband's territorial title – his address was "Lord") by marriage, she still technically had to be referred to as "Lady".

"That's not really necessary," she said.

Sasuke shrugged. "It's the etiquette around here."

"When in Wind."

He smiled. "I suppose."

Sakura found herself mesmerised by that smile. Maybe…

She glanced up toward the podium as the orchestra started playing again, and she felt a heated stare on her person.

She rolled her eyes discreetly. Right. Of course.

They were being watched from across the ballroom by her **husband** as he tried to wrangle himself free from his family. It would probably be too weird to outright flirt with the man in front of her, and Gaara didn't strike her as someone who'd let that go peacefully.

She was curious though, and found herself asking the youngest Uchiha, "If you don't mind me asking…"

"What am I doing at a Wind coming out ball?"

Sakura nodded. "Surely there are enough unattached women of age in Fire, right now?"

He stiffened slightly – so slightly she almost missed it. "It never hurts to expand one's horizons."

If she didn't know anything about his involvement in Naruto's 'business', she might actually believe him. But his response was telling, nonetheless. He wasn't here to find a fiancée… So, did that mean Naruto was planning to expand into Wind soon?

And why come to a débutante ball, for **that**?

Before she could ask more, Sakura caught sight of a flash of familiar hue of red in her peripherals.

Ah. He was **free**.

"May I have this dance?"

Sakura barely heard Sasuke's request; the music had changed tempo quite suddenly, and she wondered briefly why Sasuke was even bothering talking to her. But she was saved from having to answer his question when Sasuke noticed the approach of the ball's impromptu guest of honour.

Sasuke greeted him appropriately, with all the airs and the proper title, even bowing slightly. Gaara however, growled out " _haut et puissant prince_ " and turned on Sakura. She had a momentary image of him throwing her over his shoulder, and carting her away like some cave person, before forcing herself not to grimace at the thought.

He cocked his head, motioning for her to come with him. "A word, in private."

The bastard didn't even pretend it was a request.

"Lord Sasuke has just graciously asked me to dance," she informed him, smiling inwardly as he narrowed his eyes at a mildly bewildered Sasuke. Her triumph was short lived when Gaara snatched up her hand, and glared at Sasuke.

"It's unbecoming of a married woman to dance with another man." He snarled at the Uchiha, his tone low and dangerous – it was barely above a whisper, but judging by the look on his face, the Uchiha caught every word.

Sakura felt her face inflame from embarrassment as Gaara tugged harder on her hand, to pull her along with him and away from a dumbstruck Sasuke, as he strode defiantly away from the crowd; she was barely able to keep up with his pace, and his grip on her hand was like iron.

Sakura didn't dare glance backwards to see if anyone had noticed ( _'Why do I keep worrying over what these people think?'_ ) as she was propelled out of the room, up that staircase she'd noticed earlier, past the balcony overlooking the ballroom, and through what looked like a triumphal arch – the entrance to a terrace, it seemed.

The fact that he knew **exactly** where he was going was not lost on her, and she mentally slapped herself for the momentary surprise.

Of course he knew – he would have spent many winters here, growing up.

And that thought came with another realisation: the king was going to kill her! Maybe not literally, but she could foresee some kind of painful, social ritual in her not-too-distant future. That man scared the hell out of her.

Sakura almost tripped over the hem of her dress when Gaara stopped suddenly, reminding her also that they were alone, on a terrace, overlooking the most gorgeous gardens she'd ever seen. This whole place had overwhelmed her the moment she'd arrived one week ago, and she hadn't even seen all of it, yet.

The king's winter castle (it was really more of an oversized villa with medieval themes) had been designed with traditional styles in mind, but the architect had used stucco in place of medieval stone, and most likely braced the fanciful Gothic curves with hidden iron struts. The older, cheaper methods were foregone when it came to homes commissioned and paid for by the aristocracy.

Rumour had it that the current king had a fixation for the Gothic Revival style of architecture. It was like merging the more traditional style with modern concepts.

She shook herself. None of that mattered, of course.

Now that hundreds of bigoted eyes weren't on her, she felt her anger bubbling to the surface again.

Gaara was still holding her hand; she slapped at his chest, and pulled her hand away as roughly as she could.

"What the hell was **that**?" She asked.

"Relax," he said, and grabbed her wrists as she went to hit him again.

"Relax?" Sakura's voice became high-pitched. "Did you just tell me to relax? You just **told** Sasuke I'm married, and then practically dragged me out of the room!"

"He won't repeat it to anyone."

Damn him, and that gorgeous smirk of his! He wasn't taking this seriously.

"What are you talking about?" She hissed, angrily. "How do you know that? You don't know that! You **can't** know that! You don't know him well enough to know that. You don't know him at all. You don't even–"

Warm lips found hers and Sakura inhaled sharply in shock. He'd kissed her to shut her up!

And he seemed intent on doing more with her. Very quickly, his hands found her hips and he was backing her up against the nearest post in the baluster behind her, pressing his body against hers firmly. She lost interest in the picturesque view and her concerns over what Sasuke may or may not say to someone, and closed her eyes, just enjoying the moment.

Gaara knew just what buttons to push when it came to the high society girls, using their proprietary against them he whispered sweet nothings in their ears as he played with them. It was something he'd been taught at a younger age than what was socially acceptable, but his father had insisted. It hadn't occurred to him until now, that the so-called training had been to prevent what he'd already done with Sakura. No matter how he tried to hide it, or pretended otherwise, she'd seduced him just as much as he'd seduced her. Their wedding night at the Westward prison shouldn't have happened. Not really. But she was such a bloody temptress, and the woman didn't even see what she had.

He had to have her want him more.

Gaara broke the kiss, and ran the pad of his thumb over her clothed nipple, pressing his forehead to hers.

"Tell me you don't feel anything when I do that, and I'll leave you alone."

Sakura gulped audibly and looked down, unable to lie. He had her right where he wanted her, and they both knew it. He smirked.

 _'Arsehole.'_

"Tell me, Sakura. What do you want?"

His right hand was now sneaking under her gown, feeling for the space between the dress and chemise; skilful fingers snaked their way along the Tiffany Blue charmeuse silk, teasing her inner thighs with light touches as he went.

Sakura closed her eyes and let out a deep breath as he tilted her head, peppering kisses along her neck. Damn her hormones.

She looked him in the eyes before letting the words he wanted to hear fall out of her mouth in a breathy whisper. " _Fais-moi l'amour_."

She wanted him to make love to her, right here, right now, and screw the consequences.

"Gone native, have we, my little _radasse_?" He asked, nudging her legs apart with his knee, expectantly.

She sounded more like a woman of Wind than she was willing to admit. Sakura groaned in response to his comment and he chuckled; he was a smug bastard.

Gaara undid the top ribbons holding her corset in place, and tugged at the sleeves of her gown to aid his desire to expose her breasts to his hungry eyes; goosebumps formed as the cool air hit her bare skin, and Sakura watched in fascination as the redhead cupped her breasts appreciatively. He licked his lips, seemingly not noticing she was watching him so closely, and lowered his mouth to the left nipple, smiling as she immediately moaned in response.

He let his right hand wander, stroking her side as he switched his attention between her breasts. Sakura leant backwards, against the balustrade and held onto the railing tightly. She closed her eyes, just enjoying the familiar feel of that tongue on her skin.

How could she have forgotten how **good** he was at this?

She was so distracted by his hot breath on her skin that she didn't realise his hand had snaked back under her dress. Unlike in previous decades, the gowns one was now expected to wear to the débutante ball had lighter layers of clothing; Gaara made quick work of getting under her simple undergarments and his talented fingers made a beeline between her parted thighs.

She gasped.

Gaara smirked.

She was glistening.

Sakura bit her lip, staring at him as she shifted her bum against the railing for more support. All Gaara was doing was pressing her into the damn thing, not holding her up. And if she fell, she was taking him with her!

He just raised an eyebrow at her frustration and kept eye contact with her as his fingers went to work – she didn't know how else to describe it. She had been so naive on their wedding night (not that she'd changed much since then), but there was still so much to learn, and she wanted him to teach her everything.

This situation, however, was far from the appropriate setting for such an in depth discussion.

Aware that she was acting like a wanton whore (proprietary speaking), Sakura gripped the balustrade even tighter and, using the railing as a brace, bucked her hips forward; the motion of her body pushed his fingers further inside of her, and her thighs clenched reflexively around his hand.

He groaned into her ear. "Next time, that's going to be my face, not my fingers."

But they didn't have the luxury of slowly undressing each other, so it would have to wait.

Gaara retracted his hand and grabbed the hem of her gown, eagerly bunching the material as he lifted it up, past her waist. Flushed and breathing heavily, she looked up at him and he paused to take in the sight before him. He'd felt something for this creature, the moment he'd seen her – it was lust, a magnetic attraction that he'd dismissed as convenient, given his convict status at the time (not to mention the sexual frustration that came with it). But not only had he not bedded anyone in the twelve months since her, he hadn't **wanted** to.

She was so… what was the word, beautiful? No. Nothing that _commun_.

Gaara shook his head.

Now was not the time for those kinds of thoughts.

He lowered his head to kiss her properly as he worked on unbuttoning his trousers. Her legs wrapped around him intuitively; she groaned heavily as Gaara ground his groin against hers. The feel of her alone made him hard; he was more than ready.

Gods, he was ready.

Sakura pulled away from the kiss in time to see the pained look in his face before Gaara hooked her right leg up to rest more securely on his hip. It was incredibly surreal to her; it was the strangest sensation as he practically slammed her harder against the railing without (completely) removing a single article of her clothing, or his own. He just pushed aside all impediments, and without further ado, buried himself inside of her.

Gaara's mouth found hers, muffling her cry, and he pushed, sinking in for that first thrust, as far as he could go.

Gods, how he'd missed this.

She was so heavenly, so intoxicating… what was that word he was looking for, before?

"Nggh!"

Sakura's nonsensical groan brought him back to reality and Gaara sighed into her mouth. He set the pace, pulling and pushing, rotating his hips and exploring her body; he never stopped kissing her.

Eventually, Sakura broke the kiss again, throwing her head back as the first orgasm hit her. Breathless pants soon turned into wanton moans again, and she tried to keep up as his thrusts grew harder and faster. The rhythm was consistent, for now, so she took the time to run her hands over his chest. Lamenting that he hadn't removed enough of his clothing, Sakura deftly unbuttoned his coat and pushed it aside eagerly; her fingernails ripped at the buttons of his waistcoat, causing Gaara to lean forward to kiss her again and bite down on her lip, hard.

He released her mouth when her hands flexed over his now bare chest and kissed her cheek, his lips slowly making their way toward her jawline; here, he nipped her softly before moving onto her neck.

Sakura hummed her approval as Gaara quickened his pace again.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes…" She buried her face in his shoulder to muffle her moans, and he chuckled in her ear.

Gods, how she'd missed this.

His hands clasped her breasts momentarily; she whimpered. He moved his fingers to her clitoris now, trying to rush her release. She'd already climaxed, but he was so near now, he wanted to go there with her this time.

"Fuck." She groaned. "Gaara!"

He repeated her name back at her, burying his face in her neck. Anticipation; fire burned through them and Sakura cried out again, her vision blurring. For a moment, she almost didn't notice the searing heat shooting through her had come from him; her canal squeezed him instinctively. They'd come together.

Wasn't that supposed to be rare?

She'd heard that was rare...

Sakura sighed, looking up at the ceiling of the terrace, not wanting to move. If she just stopped for a moment, and imagined that ceiling was the one in her bedroom back home, in Fire, she could pretend she didn't **have** to get up and start moving again.

She was exhausted.

But the weight of the panting redhead on top of her wouldn't let her mind wander like that. He was so distracting.

 _'What am I supposed to do about him?'_

She wanted him… they both knew it. But since when did she ever get what she wanted? Gaara was so surreal to her. She barely knew him, but at the same time, she had never felt this content before. Not even before her father died.

What the hell was this wayward man doing to her?

She sighed again. "Shit."

Gaara lifted his head to smile cheekily at her, and she couldn't help but blush.

"How uncouth of you."

"Fine, _merde_." She corrected herself sarcastically.

She closed her eyes as he started kissing her jaw again. A small sigh escaped her as his tongue darted out, and his grip on her hips tightened. Was he trying to get another round out of her? And here?

He was too distracting. She had to stop this before it started up again.

The smell of him was overpowering; his scent, the heady lust she could taste on the air, and the musk of sex was becoming too much. It really hit her then, what they'd just done, and Sakura felt the panic crushing her chest. He was still inside her! She could still feel him. This wasn't twelve months ago, they didn't have all night, and this hadn't been planned for, or protected against!

Sakura pushed at him. "Off." He grunted unenthusiastically into her shoulder, and she growled. "Can you please get out of me now?"

Gaara pulled back, shook his head at her, rolled his eyes and finally obeyed. It was an effort. He hadn't wanted to move. Since when did sex that didn't last longer than fifteen minutes wear a person out like that?

Maybe he was getting old. Maybe. He felt twice his age after that conversation with his family in the ballroom.

Gaara's gaze drifted toward the triumphal arch warily. That wasn't the end of it, either.

He turned back to look at Sakura, his hands moving to pull his trousers back up properly and cover himself, as she'd finished pulling her gown down and was trying to redo the ribbons on her corset. He'd seen his essence on her leg, and knew she'd be hyper aware of it right now – it couldn't be a remotely comfortable feeling. He dug through his pocket and fished out a handkerchief before handing it to her.

She arched an inquisitive eyebrow at him.

"For..." He gestured between her legs. "You know..."

"Thanks," she said, accepting the item, and discreetly turning away from him.

Gaara turned his head away respectfully.

Sakura felt exposed like this, more so than she had a few moments ago when she'd literally on display – there was something so wrong about having to wipe oneself clean in public. And then there was the handkerchief. What was she supposed to do with it when she was done?

Ridiculous question, maybe.

"Here." Gaara held out his hand a few minutes later, noticing she was done. "I'll get rid of it."

She nodded mutely, trying not to blush. Everything about this situation had gone completely insane. One minute she was dreading an hour at this stupid ball, and the next… she blushed heavily, glancing at Gaara as he folded his handkerchief and surreptitiously slipped it between his jacket and waistcoat.

But did she regret it?

Bright green met soft jade, and they stared each other down. It didn't matter who spoke first, she supposed, so Sakura sighed, giving in.

"I guess we need to talk."

…

 **No, she's not pregnant this time either.**


	7. Chapter 7

**This is a better posting schedule.**

 **Enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: c.f. chapter 1.**

…

 **Chapter 7**

There was a special place in hell for people who provided alcoholic beverages for an event but didn't share their stockpile of cider. Cider was literally the fruit of life.

Baki sighed, his eyes raking over the selection before him as he tried to decided what he was going to get tipsy on tonight. He couldn't get drunk on anything other than cider – it was barbaric to even consider it. Moping was definitely in the cards tonight.

He was tipping over that barrier into being classified as middle aged, and what did he have to show for it? He had been roped into coming to this ball when he wasn't even allowed to be on the menu, and they didn't even have anything decent to get drunk on. The world was going to shit.

This wasn't his world. Any more than it was Sakura's…

The smell of flowers drifted under his nose, interrupting his thoughts about the unfortunate woman, and he turned his head in time to spot a young lady practically gliding past him. She was beautiful, he had to admit; her burgundy gown was tailored very nicely to her body, and her blonde hair wasn't one of those bottled versions. She was natural.

The flowery smell had actually been the bouquet of flowers in her arms; from Chrysanthemums to different coloured Camellias, she was like a walking flower shop.

Baki smiled wistfully, watching her entertain the suitors that attempted to lure her onto the dancefloor. She wasn't easy though, and he was oddly fascinated by how much attention she was getting. Maybe she was easy, he thought, but loved making them work for it – either way, he liked her sass.

Too bad.

In all the five nations, the one thing they shared above all others was a love for flowers and the culture attached to using them to symbolise all manner of things. Even the slightest intention could be conveyed by using the right flower – the quiet beauty of this culture was unlike any other, in Baki's opinion. It was the only reason to want to be born into the higher houses.

Not that he would know anything about being raised as one of **them**.

Flowers wilted and died, but their meaning remained forever.

And in this season of courting rituals, forever was a concept created from the bouquet of flowers sent to court a young lady, the drink sent to the woman across the bar, the fanciful idea that she should flattered by unwanted attention, and the dowry given to the man most suited to her. It created a façade that this was how things should be. It was never about love, despite the pretense.

' _I need to get out more_.'

This mood did not suit him.

"Do you come here often?"

That voice was achingly familiar.

"Autin?"

Unoffended by the casual address, the middle-aged man who had sidled up next to him just smiled; he had always been a fake personality, despite his lack of desire to worry about the larger, social norms.

"Baki, I didn't know you wore dinner suits – you look dashing."

He didn't know the man was sly. Wasn't he married?

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Now," Autin said, in a shocked tone of voice. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

"If I meet an old friend, I'll be sure not to talk to him like that."

Autin rolled his eyes. "You haven't changed."

"And you're more familiar than necessary, as usual."

The man shrugged. "It seemed appropriate. I'd not heard of your return, and the rumour was you'd followed the prince to his execution." He swirled the drink in his hand absent-mindedly. "Imagine my surprise to find you here tonight, drinking, and eating all the king's food like some poorly trained _singe_."

Now he was being compared to a monkey?

Baki frowned inwardly at that.

"I thought the cold caught you."

He'd assumed the winter had killed him?

"I'm sure you hoped the rumours were false," Baki added.

"Oh, of course. Of course."

Baki just glared at him until he relented.

"Okay, not an old friend." Autin drank the last of his beverage quickly. "My son is here and I'm chaperoning, of course."

Not surprising.

"Oh, dear me, _mon bon monsieur_."

Autin made a show of pulling out a handkerchief and wiping at his chin before lowering his hand and pressing a napkin into Baki's surreptitiously. Without a word, he walked away.

Surprising.

Baki turned away from the bright lights of the ballroom, and unfolded the napkin.

A message.

And it bore a familiar scrawl. What was Autin up to? And how did such an unusual communiqué come into his possession?

The dark hair of his not-really-old-friend had disappeared into the crowd, and Baki didn't have time to try to track him down to demand answers. He needed to find Gaara – the man had disappeared with the pinkette over ten minutes ago, and he assumed they were… uh… catching up. But this couldn't wait.

This message couldn't wait.

It was from their mutual friend.

Baki looked up, spotting the king just in time as the man left the room discreetly, disappearing behind a curtained wall with his less **troublesome** children in tow.

He had been right to worry twelve months ago – this was going to bite him in the arse.

.

.

" _I guess we need to talk."_

The silence was deafening.

Sakura twiddled her thumbs when Gaara didn't respond; his eyes drifted to their view of the gardens over the balcony ledge, seemingly thinking of something that had nothing to do with their current predicament.

What was it with men and their avoidance on talking things through?

She thought he wanted to get things aired out. But maybe that was just wishful thinking – twelve months of picturing him magically being alive, and coming up with some long winded excuse for being absent for so long had not prepared her for the silence. Nor the pensive look on his face.

What was she to him?

Gaara meanwhile, was wondering how they were going to have this conversation without fear of his ever omnipresent father barging in on them. Nobody knew this castle quite like King Rasa, and the redhead had no doubt in his mind that the shady sycophants that shadowed him were more than likely looking for them right now.

His father didn't know the meaning of personal space.

Sighing, he turned back to face Sakura. She looked uncomfortable and annoyed. Just what he'd expect. Really, even if he hadn't met her a year ago, he'd have found her eventually – Naruto liked to talk about her, a lot, and she was very interesting on paper. More so in person. She had been Naruto's best friend growing up. Surprisingly, Gaara felt no jealousy over the close relationship those two had, despite his natural proclivity toward possessiveness. It was the Uchiha that rubbed him the wrong way – and they'd only just met tonight.

Really, the raven haired man had spent the first part of the night chatting up the harlots of the high class court, and Gaara was expected he just **happened** to suddenly made a beeline for Sakura in the middle of the king's speech?

Wait, the king's speech. Sasuke had… it was as if remembering the king's speech had opened the heavens, and Gaara was suddenly alight with epiphanies. He stared at Sakura.

Sasuke was a friend of Naruto's. It made sense now. How had he missed that? But the blond had never once talked about him in any of their communiqués. He talked about all his friends, but never Sasuke. He talked about his family, about the girl he had a crush on but was pretty certain was oblivious to his affections – some shy girl he'd met during a visit to the Fire capital. He even talked about his new pet frog, or whatever it was he'd bought from his godfather this time.

Gaara shook himself. That didn't matter.

He held out a hand to Sakura, watching the surprise light up her face as his own face formed a mask of indifference to cover the uncertainty he was suddenly feeling.

Still unsure about his intentions, Sakura couldn't bring herself to ruin this moment however, and took his hand hesitantly. Gaara squeezed her fingers gently but kept her at a distance.

"I want to show you something."

"You're going to ask permission to cart me away, this time?" She asked.

"Hm." He couldn't help but smile at that.

"Is that a 'yes' or a 'no'?"

" _S'il te plait_?"

Sakura nodded, surprised he was actually using his manners.

"We should retire somewhere more private," he said. "Come on."

How had she not noticed that there were two doors on this terrace? The second door wasn't even obscured.

The triumphal arch to her left led back to the ballroom, but there was a smaller door stood next to a trellis on the other end of the terrace, next to the railing (she assumed it went off in the opposite direction). The door was unassuming, however, and ivy from the trellis had crept its way along the frame of the door – it **almost** looked like the door was just another part of the green vines.

Without letting go of Sakura's hand, Gaara pulled heavily on the door and led the way, again.

The trip was longer this time. They moved off the second storey via an outdoor staircase, slipped in through what she guessed was one of many servant's entrances, strode through a hallway where the only sound was their footfalls, and snuck back out of the castle through another unassuming door.

The air was fresh and Sakura inhaled deeply. They were outside.

Another set of stairs led inside, and she was beginning to wonder if this trip would ever end.

They were in a long hallway, and Gaara explained it was a section of the west wing that his father had never renovated because of its lack of use. But these doors were all doors to guest rooms, which baffled her. How the rich could stand living in such a place, and waste so much space, was a mystery to her.

"In here."

"Is this what you wanted to show me? An empty room?"

"Funny."

"A bedroom?"

"You wish, dirty girl."

Flustered, Sakura glared at him; she covered her coloured cheeks, fighting the blush as he smirked at her.

' _Arsehole_.'

Gaara laughed. "Relax."

He opened the door to the third room on the right, letting her go through first, but keeping an eye on her reaction.

She gasped.

Sakura had told only Ino and Naruto about her love of libraries. The musty old books just had a comforting smell that people didn't. An allure she could never resist.

There was a lounge ensemble in the corner though, next to a dressing table with a vanity and what looked like a portable armoire; this room had to have been used by someone who literally lived to come here. She could relate with that desire.

"Wow."

"Is that what they say in Fire when they're in a wood?"

"In a wood?"

"Bewildered." Gaara followed her in, closing the door behind himself, and watched her gape at the rows of books; volume after volume, they were all unique, but his father had never been much of a studious man (not even for tradition's sake – though he was no illiterate fool). "Or, at a loss," he added.

"Hm." She skimmed her hand along the nearest shelf. "This is all so amazing, but are you sure we're out of the way, in here?"

"Still wishing this was a bedroom?"

Sakura blushed. "Shut up."

"But to answer your question, it's the least likely place in this castle for us to be interrupted."

"That usually means it's the first place an intelligent villain checks."

He scoffed.

Sakura turned to look at him; arms crossed over his chest and leaning against the now closed door, she took a moment to take him in. He always looked so regal – something she'd noticed from the beginning, even in a place like the Westward prison.

They really needed to talk.

"I feel like I can trust you," she said, running her hand absentmindedly over her gown. "But I don't really know you. The weirdness is doing my head in."

He nodded. "Ask me some questions, then."

"Any question?"

He hesitated, uncrossing his arms. "Any."

"Okay."

She bit her bottom lip, thinking.

' _Might as well start at the beginning._ '

"How did you escape execution?"

"Baki."

Sakura cocked her head to the side. That was all he was going to say? "Uh, he broke you out?"

"No, he gave me a weapon."

"Oh."

"…"

"Um, so does that mean you didn't really try to steal a horse?"

Gaara laughed.

"What?"

"I tried to steal a horse. Is that really want you wanted to ask me?"

Actually, she found it important – she had no idea why.

"Fine, why did you let me think you were dead?"

"We hardly knew each other."

She knew that. Sakura gave him a foul look when he smirked at her. "Fine, then. What made you come back now?"

"My father."

Mood killer.

"The king."

"Hm."

Sakura sighed and turned away from him, her eyes raking over the shelves of books while she tried to sort out her thoughts. It was too early to form an opinion on her marital relation to the crown. She just didn't want to have to face that right now. But it made her think of Naruto, and even Sasuke – they both knew the monarch of Fire and she realised suddenly that maybe Sasuke's presence at this ball might very well have nothing to do with Naruto.

Maybe.

"Sakura?"

"Hm?"

"What's wrong?"

"It's nothing."

"Tell me," he growled.

Hands on her hips, Sakura spun back around, and stared daggers at him. "Is this how it's always going to be between us – you leading me around the castle, growling at me, and bossing me around?"

He strode over to her and she stood her ground, glaring at him.

"You have no idea the trouble you're in the middle of."

"Then tell me."

Gaara ran a hand through his hair, and her eyes drifted up to the weird tattoo on his forehead.

"It means 'love'," he said, noting her gaze. He sighed. "I had it done the first time my father tried to kill me." He ignored her indignant gasp. "It's just a memento – a reminder of what I've been through."

"If he tried to kill you, then–"

"He isn't really all that–"

"Your father is a tyrant," she said, poking him in the chest. "Don't you dare downplay that. He's hurt more than you, you know. He's turned Wind into a single economy country. Pretty soon everyone here will either be rich or dead. He's a monster."

Gaara smiled broadly at her, amused.

"What?" She frowned, feeling self-conscious suddenly.

"You're Naruto's friend, alright."

"Naruto?"

How the hell did he know Naruto? Wait, he couldn't be talking about Naruto Uzumaki, could he? How many people named their son after ramen?

Gaara gave her a patronising stare. "He's an optimistic idiot," he said, holding a hand up to his head to indicate height. "About this tall with obnoxiously bright blond hair, and thinks orange is a trendy fashion statement."

"Shut up. How do you know him? And how did you know he's my friend?"

"Oh no, that's enough questions from you. Now you have to answer one of mine."

She sighed. "Fine, what?"

"Why haven't you left Wind, yet?" Gaara quickly took her hand again when she looked like she wanted to turn away again. "You're not the kind to roll over for the biddies in this society. Why are you still here?"

Why indeed.

"It doesn't matter anymore," she said. "It's over." She took a deep breath and just dived in, explaining her escape plans with Ino. "I should've left the moment my mother dragged me here years ago, but at first I couldn't bring myself to leave her here alone."

"And now?"

Sakura shook her head, feeling close to tears. "I kept fooling myself, thinking she'd change back into the woman who raised me. Then an opportunity presented itself, and I dove straight into it. Even though he hasn't stepped foot in Wind, Naruto's done what he can to help me. But if you're a Wind noble and you know him by name, then you know what he's otherwise up to."

Gaara nodded.

She sniffled but refused to let him pull her into a hug, tugging on his hand when he tried. "Look, I know I've been miserable, but I really thought I could help the people your father seems set on starving out of the country. There are so many people in Wind who won't survive past the next few winters if we don't get them out."

"You're actually smuggling people out of Wind?"

"Yes, of course."

She didn't have the skills and know-how that Naruto did, but because she didn't have many societal expectations as the black sheep of her new, twisted family, she could frivol away her days as she saw fit.

Naruto hadn't actually been a part of her endeavours directly, just setting up points of contact for the people she could send his way. He hadn't expanded his own dealings into Wind yet, but as soon as he realised this country didn't have much in the way of ramen based establishments, she was sure that would change.

His business wasn't actually people smuggling – it was ramen smuggling.

It sounded ridiculous, but his love for ramen noodles was legendary in black market circles.

Her charity ways surprised Gaara. "I thought you hated this country."

"I hate the proprietary," she snapped at him, poking his chest with her free hand. "And the _propre_ cows, and bulls of the society that look down on me for being different. Contrary to your father's propaganda, not everyone in this country is a complete twat."

"Propaganda?"

"Don't play dumb – it doesn't suit you."

"I know he's an ass, but–"

"He's…" She groaned, unable to find a word strong enough to describe the king. "I just…wish you weren't related to him." Sakura let out a deep sigh and pulled her hand away from him. It would be so much easier if she wasn't badmouthing the father of the man who had captured her heart.

Her heart, and her body. She couldn't get over what he did to her, but how could they have a future when he was the son of a man she wished would wither and die?

"I can't change who my family is," he said softly. "And they are my family, no matter what."

She scoffed, hugging her body tightly. She hated where this conversation was going.

"Well what do you expect me to do?" He yelled suddenly. "Kill my family? Start a war? What?"

"You could start by not making excuses for him!" She screamed back. "That would be great!"

Gaara threw his hands into the air. "Oh, _mon dieu_!"

He disappointed her. He really did.

Sakura made her mind up. She needed to get out of here, and she was leaving by herself.

"You're not going anywhere," he said, growling.

Her eyes had darted toward the door in earnest, and maybe she was just that transparent.

"Stop telling me what to do."

Gaara growled. What was she, stupid? "We are still married, _woman_."

Sakura glared at him. "Don't call me that like I'm supposed to bed to your will!"

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm down. She was trying his patience.

"No." His eyes snapped open and he grabbed her arm as she made to move toward the door.

"Gaara," she said, whimpering. "Let me go."

" _Désolé_." He brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. "I'm sorry. Please don't go."

He'd made a promise to himself not to let her go. Not this time.

Gaara couldn't explain his attachment to her, and trying to deny it was just hurting too much. He needed to take her far away from here and then, he could sort out what it was he was feeling.

He pulled her flush against him, wrapping his arms around her and gripping tighter when she shifted in his hold.

Gaara sighed, breathing her in.

He traced her jaw; her eyes resolutely shut, Sakura trembled. Gaara loved the way she fought the inevitable – she was feisty to a fault – but they didn't have all night. His father would undoubtedly be searching for him soon, and Gaara had no desire to explain to the old man that he'd found something outside their family that he wanted. His father had been actively denying him this feeling his entire life. Sakura was… getting under his skin, but in a good way. He wanted to kiss her, fuck her, and run away with her.

That niggling voice in the back of his head – the one that always made excuses for his father – was trouble, though.

Gaara lowered his mouth to brush her lips. But he wasn't stupid – they did barely know each other for two people who'd met and fucked, on two occasions already – but he felt so comfortable around her. His family still made him uneasy, and it had taken Baki years to worm his way into his confidence.

It was such a cliché that some random, unassuming woman had done the same thing, so quickly.

Time passed.

Gaara held her, his fingers brushing her skin, his mouth devouring hers, and his body flush against hers. She was responding, moaning, holding onto him tighter with every passing minute.

Time seemed to go so slow, despite the fact that he was enjoying himself.

And neither of them heard the door open.

"I hope we're not interrupting anything."

Gaara and Sakura broke apart, gasping for breath.

Shit.

So much for his father's lack of studious conviction. He knew where the library was, after all.

Sakura had the urge to step backwards, to appear as unimposing as possible, but her pride wouldn't let her hide behind Gaara. He had other ideas however, shifting to shield her from his father's penetrating stare.

Except, that Rasa was not alone – Temari and Kankuro flanked him as he walked into the dusty library, all three sets of eyes on the married couple in front of them.

"Close the door, Temari." The king's voice was stern and no-nonsense.

The blonde woman dutifully obeyed, closing the door on Sakura's escape.

…

 **Heh heh heh. We're evil. We know.**


	8. Chapter 8

**To the person wanting translations: we really hadn't intended to do so. We figured the mostly one worded comments could be easily understood using common sense. But if we've been too vague for that, please feel free to point out which parts you feel may need direct translating and we'll go back over and have a look at them. Thank-you for being honest about it. :)**

 **Enjoy. XD**

 **Disclaimer: c.f. chapter 1.**

…

 **Chapter 8**

Every door, both inside and on the grounds of the king's winter castle, could be locked. In most homes among the high court this wasn't normally the case; locks were just used for the main doors, any room hiding valuables (including outdoor sheds), private gardens, the cellars, and the stables and mews. In this castle however, the smaller, less important rooms could still be locked from both sides (though they rarely were).

Some people might wonder why bother with upgrading it – the same people who didn't know the king at all.

"Lock the door."

Kankuro hastened to do as his father bade him, pulling a heavy looking door-key from his waistcoat and turning to lock the door to this room. Then he moved to stand next to Temari, crossing his arms over his chest as he leant against the wall, looking bored. Gaara knew better though – neither of his siblings wanted to be in this room.

Rasa kept his eyes on Gaara, who returned the baleful stare.

It was either run or fight, when it came to this man; you fight him and lose, or you run and live. That was the long held belief, but even though he'd never seen his father in action, Gaara wasn't eager to put that rumour to the test.

Nobody said a word for a few minutes as Rasa observed his youngest son, clearly attempting to grasp what Gaara was doing with this strange girl.

Rasa was used to his son consorting with undesirables. So, was she his mistress, of sorts? Some prostitute he'd found on the streets and dressed up just to test his patience, again? She looked like _ordures_ to him – something easily tossed into the streets. But the way his son stood protectively in front of her, he doubted Gaara would agree with him.

Finally, the king spoke. "Am I correct in assuming you've had previous interactions with this woman?"

Gaara resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes."

What he wanted to say was _'what the fuck are you doing here?'_

Since when did the man directly ask him about what company he kept?

"Who is she?"

This time he did roll his eyes. Maybe it was a bit much to expect the king to remember the name of every person in his kingdom, but Gaara was under the impression his father knew every name on the list of invitees tonight.

The redhead made the proper introductions however, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. He held onto Sakura's hand as he spoke, gripping her tighter when she took the unspoken cue from his father to curtsey. She was hiding her fear well, it seemed.

Gaara was relieved the man hadn't verbally attacked them yet. But dare he chance calling her his wife to his face?

He remembered something Baki had told him years ago: _'That man cares for so little in this world, but he pretends so hard I think he's convinced himself he's not really as bad as he is. Sometimes, he even acts like he's not; genuinely surprised at himself for not killing you the moment you were born. Maybe… maybe he really_ _ **does**_ _care about you, after all.'_

Gaara took a deep breath. But before he could decide on whether or not to add "my wife" to his introductions, his father was talking again.

"Your friend in the ballroom received an interesting letter from an old friend, tonight," Rasa said. "I'd be surprised if he wasn't looking for you right now."

"He? Which one, the friend in the ballroom, or the old friend?" Gaara couldn't bloody help himself.

Surprisingly, the king smirked at this.

"The one in the ballroom, of course."

"Is a letter from someone you don't care about really why you followed us in here?"

Gaara steeled himself for the rant that always followed a proclamation like that. He was a stain on the family name, a disappointment to the crown, and better off **really** heading out with the Imperial Guard and not coming back. But the rant didn't come.

Instead, Rasa tilted his head to look at Sakura.

"I am aware of your family litigation issues." He really hoped what he was about to say was wrong. "I take it my son was the man on your marriage certificate?"

The shock on her face told him everything he needed to know. He was deeply disappointed. That meant the certificate he'd seen had been forged – but if they were legally bound to each other, an authentic version did indeed exist out there. And judging from this girl's reaction, she wasn't aware that the name she'd signed next to had been changed without her noticing.

How had Gaara managed that, and what had his son been thinking?

"This is ridiculous," he said, now looking at Gaara again. "Why would you disgrace me like this? If you had any respect for this family, why marry some stranger? She could've been anyone. Did you think I would be so angered that I'd execute you the moment I saw you again?"

"You've ordered my death before."

"True."

Sakura looked over at Kankuro and Temari as they shifted uncomfortably. Like her, they didn't dare intervene and, like her, they weren't very fond of what their father had done. It was all over their faces. The pinkette held out hope that Gaara **did** have family that cared, even if they did seem to be annoyed by his marital status.

They wouldn't do anything to hurt **him**.

"I believe…" Rasa glanced at Sakura before staring at his son again. "You have erred. But I am willing to overlook your more recent indiscretion."

" _C'est des conneries._ " Gaara said, hissing through clenched teeth. This was utter **bullshit**.

"Gaara." Temari hissed, warningly.

"Believe what you will." Rasa narrowed his eyes at Gaara, haughtily. "But your choice to consort with this lowborn girl is not the only decision you need to make tonight."

"What are you talking about?"

Rasa glanced at Kankuro.

Gaara's brother broke his silence. "He means the Fire boy."

"Sasuke Uchiha?" What about him?

As far as Gaara was supposed to know, Sasuke was here to find a future wife – though his conversation with Sakura made him realise that boy wasn't here for any woman tonight. The less his family knew about that realisation, the better.

' _But why had the Uchiha approached Sakura and asked her to_ _ **dance**_ _, of all things?'_

The questions burned a hole in him and Gaara just had to add, "you're worried he's here for something other than the débutante ball."

The Uchiha and Sabaku had never liked each other, even though they traded with each other well enough. It was only _proper_ he supposed, to keep it civil and not risk any kind of skirmish with that powerful family. Even though the Uchiha weren't the ruling family of Fire, they were connected enough for any attack on them to turn into an excuse for war between the two countries.

Which was how Sasuke could come to this ball and not fear being ostracized from the guests – quite the opposite, obviously. He was untouchable.

"What, that Fire boy?" Rasa scoffed. "The Uchiha Clan has a habit of underestimating my spy network."

He didn't believe for a second that the youngest Uchiha was here to court anyone; even Fugaku wouldn't stoop so low as to allow his own flesh and blood into the Wind hierarchy. But his business here was hardly worth getting worked up over.

"Then why…" Gaara drifted off, finally catching his father's meaning. This was so stupid. If he was right, the man was unhinged.

"Maybe your new acquisition could help you," Temari suggested. "He seemed interested in her, after all."

Gaara growled at her, while Sakura struggled not to glare at the blonde woman. What the hell did Temari think she was, a prostitute?

But the blonde wasn't done. "Why would you want to hang on to such–"

"Temari." Rasa gave her a stern look and she lowered her head apologetically. "Dinner will be served in the main hall soon." He continued. "So make this little reunion quick."

There was no room for argument. His father really expected Gaara to do this.

Why? Was it in return for accepting Sakura into the family?

No…there was more going on here. He just needed some time to figure it out.

Kankuro hesitated as their father turned on the spot and strode out of the room. He fished inside his waistcoat and pulled out that door-key from before. Hesitantly, he placed the key on the dressing table, gave Gaara a pointed look, and then rushed out of the room, clearly eager to catch up with his father.

Temari also paused, her hand on the door after Kankuro fled, and looked imploringly at her little brother. She opened her mouth to say something, glanced at Sakura, shut her mouth tightly and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Gaara let out a deep breath, realising he'd been holding it. He stepped forward slowly and pressed an ear to the door, waiting for their footfalls to disappear into the distance before relaxing.

Behind him, Sakura let out an audible sigh. "Arsehole."

"He's gone."

"I don't trust him."

Gaara sighed. "Nor do I."

"What did he mean by that comment that I'm not the only decision you need to make?"

"Nothing good."

Gaara picked the door-key up from the dressing table, and stared at it. It was as heavy as it looked, wrought iron, had an unusually simple key configuration, and was as ornate as the door to this room. What Kankuro was thinking when he left it, Gaara didn't know, but it opened up possibilities, especially if it was what it looked like – a skeleton key.

He'd known there were master keys held by the head servants (typically a butler), but he'd never seen one before. Typically, a person of higher standing had no need for such things, sending servants to open doors and collect whatever they needed behind any locked door.

"What's wrong?"

He glanced at Sakura, thinking. If his father had really meant every word he'd just said, why the big show of pretending to consider accepting his new daughter-in-law?

' _Like that would ever happen.'_

Rasa was not a sentimental man. He never had been. The only thing Gaara could think of was that this ruse was meant to make him let his guard down. Once they got back into the ballroom and dining hall, they'd be trapped; the guards could watch every move they made, and prevent them from leaving.

It also meant that Sakura, in particular, wasn't as welcomed as Rasa claimed.

Baki had been wrong – the old, pathetic excuse for a king didn't mean well by him after all this time.

Gaara sighed. There was only one thing left to do.

He pocketed the door-key, ignoring Sakura's curious gaze and started rummaging through the dressing table, bedside drawers, and oversized armoire, looking for anything that might help. (This was a personal library, so over the years of its use – before he was born – it had also taken on a bedroom-like quality.) A change of clothes was number one on the list; perhaps a few servant's uniforms so that most people would just assume they were moving about to attend to duties.

(The chances of meeting anyone along the way was slim, given that the ball would still be going on, in full swing, but he didn't want to chance running into a servant who could then identify them to the king. Not to mention Rasa's sycophant spies.)

Gaara and Sakura both had very distinctive hair, so a head cap was imperative too, and... he pulled a face, picking up a tattered looking, men's cloth cap. The things he did and wore to get away from these people.

He couldn't risk dressing like a butler – they were in charge of directing the other servants, so everyone would know their faces. On top of that, while each class of footman in this castle dressed generically, it was still sophisticated (yet simple). They didn't have hats in their uniform, though.

He pushed the fancier clothes aside and looked for something more casual so he could at least pass as a hall boy; there were only two hats in this wardrobe so he'd just have to endure that raggedy thing.

Ugh.

He picked out several garments he believed wouldn't draw attention and absentmindedly started tugging at his own clothes, his mind whirring.

Sakura's eyes bulged out of her head as Gaara began stripping down. She had been thoroughly ravished by this man, but watching him drop his waistcoat, and get to work on his dinner jacket… she couldn't breathe. He was now undressed in front of her. That chest on display… she couldn't look away as he bent to pull down his trousers.

Oh god.

She hadn't had the pleasure to see this much of him in a long time…

Gaara glanced at her and smirked. She was so easy. But he didn't have time to bask in her lecherous stare. He grabbed the clothes he'd chosen to wear and quickly slid them on, taking great pleasure in the disappointed look on her face when he was once again covered from her eyes. He made a mental note to undress for her properly at a later date.

He couldn't wait to find a fluffy mattress bed, and spend hours reacquainting himself with her body.

Gaara retrieved the skeleton door-key and turned to face Sakura, holding out an equally dull uniform to her. "Now that you've enjoyed the show, I suggest you dress as well."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are we dressing as the help?"

"To blend, my dear wife, to blend."

Sakura narrowed her eyes at him haughtily, but knew he was right. They couldn't stay here. They couldn't even walk out the way they'd come in. If sneaking out of this castle hadn't already been on her agenda, Sakura felt she might have slapped Gaara for this. She sighed, grabbing the grey and white outfit from him; a uniform fit for a scullery maid.

"Fine, just turn around."

He raised an eyebrow at this.

"I know you've already seen it all," she hissed. "Just, turn around."

Dutifully, Gaara spun on the spot; looking around in his field of vision, he quickly noticed the vanity on the dressing table from before (the strangeness of this library, slash temporary living quarters, always baffled him), and smirked. He couldn't see her entire body, but the side of her was visible in the mirror, and as she turned to drop her gown a minute later, he got an ample view of her backside.

Very nice.

"What exactly are you planning on doing once we get out of here?" She asked, eyeing the uniform critically before finally opening it up to yank over her slim hips. "Do you even have a plan?"

"We don't have much of a window," he admitted, tilting his head slightly to keep her reflection in view. "The guests will be dining soon, as my father said. I'd say maybe fifteen more minutes. No more than twenty."

"That sounds reasonable. But I meant after we get out of the castle."

"We should head for the village of Otaki."

"Otaki?" That was a small outlying village to the east, if she remembered correctly.

"I have a few friends in that area."

She scoffed.

"I have friends."

"Right."

"Fine, they are consorts who–"

"Aargh! I don't want to know!"

Gaara chuckled but let it go. She was fun to rile up.

He lost his smile quickly, when she told him he could turn back around and the reality of their situation hit him with the image of her in a maid's uniform. Gaara lifted the white head cap of the scullery maid and placed it on her head, absently brushing her distinctive pink hair out of the way. She was going to have to tuck it under, tightly.

And they were going to have to walk and not run. They needed…

"Gaara?"

"I have to do something first."

"What? No!" Wait. Was this about Sasuke?

"Stay here."

"I already told you **no**!" She said. "From now on, wherever you go, I go. It's not safe."

There was that rush of affection for her again. This woman was going to tear him up from the inside out and god help him, he would let her. He cleared his throat, pushing that thought out of his head.

He had already decided to figure out what she meant to him later.

"They won't be able to get in if I lock the door." Gaara reasoned.

"And I won't be able to get out!"

"You're not coming with me."

Sakura glared at him, offended. "What happened to you not letting me get away from you again?"

He kissed her forehead. "You're not getting away from me. I won't be long."

She tried to push at him again and angrily, wasn't able to catch his arm as he pulled away; Gaara backed out of the room and closed the door in her face, an apologetic look on his own features.

"I promise you'll be safe, Sakura." His voice was muffled through the thick door. "No matter what."

Huh?

"Bastard!" She yelled. "Let me come with you!"

The tell-tale sound of him locking the door solidified her anger with him. How could he do this to her? She wasn't one of those doting high society girls, or one of his whores.

She banged her head, resting it against the locked door. She wasn't his whore. She was his wife.

But more importantly, she was alone again.

' _Bastard.'_

…

 **We're very sorry for the delay.**

 **IridescentInTheDark** : It's my fault. I just started full-time study and I've been doing more over-time at work lately. Over the weekend, I assumed I'd done it, but I was so buried in work I completely forgot I haven't even logged in for over a week. This was supposed to be updated weekly. I know that's nothing compared to the normal update rate of fanfics, but I'm sorry anyway. I'll endeavour to update at least by this time next week. Thanks for being so patient.

 **As usual, please review. XD**


	9. Chapter 9

**Enjoy. XD**

 **Disclaimer: c.f. chapter 1.**

…

 **Chapter 9**

' _Enough with the flowers!'_

Ino Yamanaka deposited yet another bouquet to a passing servant. Didn't the men understand that she couldn't spend the night holding onto dozens of flowers at once?

The last lot had been pretty though: an assortment of Chrysanthemums and different coloured Camellias. She felt like a princess. But enough was enough – and that went for the rest of her problems, too.

Dancing in and around the swarm of men, even when one was apt to do so, took its toll on everyone (as she was finding, despite enjoying the attention). Even she had her limits of how many times she could be asked to dance before her feet had finished throbbing.

The men were of higher breeding, had excellent moves on the dancefloor, and looked stunning on her arm – if she was being perfectly honest with herself. But she hadn't anticipated that this ball would eventually annoy her, like it probably did for Sakura.

And she just needed a break.

Ino turned her body away from yet another incoming potential dancer to indicate her lack of interest in him, and was able to find a moment to herself when she realized she couldn't actually see Sakura anywhere.

There had been a ruckus with her and some redheaded man a little while ago, but since he wasn't attacking her or anything like that, Ino had quickly lost interest and submerged herself in the compliments of the tall, dark and handsome man who'd been holding her unseemingly close at the time.

And it wasn't like Ino had been looking out for her friend every few minutes, but that pink hair was distinctive, and the absence of it in the crowd (or pressed against the wallpaper, wanting to disappear) was worrying. Her eyes scanned the guests: nothing. She even made her way over to the darkened corners where Sakura might likely have taken refuge from the other party goers.

Nothing.

She wasn't anywhere in the ballroom.

Their plans to get Sakura out of the castle flitted about her mind and suddenly, Ino didn't want to dance again, at all.

She moved away from the crowd, casting a fleeting look to notice that she couldn't spot Sasuke either (too bad, she was hoping he'd ask her to dance), and quietly slipped into an adjoining hallway – it was a dead-end. She looked around, wondering what she was supposed to do now, when she finally spotted someone worth approaching.

He had to be here in some sort of serving position. It was the only thing that made sense.

Ino lifted the hem of her gown slightly and strode forward – she didn't want to accidentally trip. The harpies of this society were unforgiving of such social blunders.

So she approached the man wearing a footman's uniform, with trepidation. She had spoken to him on other occasions, but never on one in such a formal setting; he was the one who always escorted Sakura when she needed to go somewhere (a coachman), and he'd enlisted her help in sneaking things Mebuki didn't want her daughter to have, to Sakura for some time now. Ino guessed he'd also taken the pinkette when she'd had those secret liaisons with an unnamed man over a year ago.

Ino paused midstride, remembering something: the only time Sakura had deigned to give Ino any description of the man she'd apparently fallen in love with very quickly was to mention that he was an "extremely attractive redhead".

Sakura had been talking with an extremely attractive redhead tonight. The king's son…

Ino shook her head of those thoughts. Yeah right, like Sakura would get involved with someone like that. It was just a coincidence.

She started walking again.

" _Excusez-moi_." Ino pushed past the dancing couple that had waltzed right into her path as gently as she could without raising eyebrows, and followed the dressed up footman as he moved from his position (leaning against a wall with a lazy, bored look on his face).

She had to admit, that if he had been ten years younger, and born into wealth, she definitely would have danced with **him** instead of half the other men tonight (no matter how dashing they'd looked on her arm). Unfortunately, she didn't have a thing for older men, no matter how good that dark, sophisticated suit looked on him.

The man stopped, noticing she was following, and waited for her to catch up.

The closest thing Sakura had to an actual, loyal attendant would know where she had scampered off to, of that, Ino was **mostly** certain.

He bowed to her immediately, rattling off the airs that were expected of him.

Ino bit her lip. "You're… uh, Mister…uh. Sakura's coachman."

What was his name? It had never come up before, because she'd taken Sakura's cue and treated him more informally. And frankly, she hadn't stopped to care before now.

Her confusion seemed to amuse him. That surprised her.

He tilted his head slightly. "Please, I always insist that Miss Sakura calls me _monsieur_ , and you are free to do so as well. There is no need for formality."

' _That's right,'_ Ino thought. _'This guy is a rascal.'_

He wouldn't even tell Sakura his real name. And Ino had not once heard Sakura call him _monsieur_ , which meant the pinkette was just as bad as him.

"You know where Sakura is, don't you?"

No need to beat around the bush. And inquisitive eyebrow rose in response; was he playing with her?

"Pink hair," she said, grumpy. "Big, wide eyes, even bigger forehead. Inconsistently bad temper. She's the belle of the ball." She couldn't contain her sarcasm.

"I do not know, _mademoiselle_."

Ino flushed. "Don't use that word! It makes me feel like a grandmother."

She'd told him this before, so many times!

He just smiled at her. The term was for an unmarried, young woman, but it sounded so **old**. And was that a twinkle in his eye?

' _How does Sakura put up with him?'_

"You're her coachman," Ino insisted. "You're also the only servant that doesn't treat her like she's a burden her step-father just unloaded on them. She trusts you…"

She didn't realise how true that was until she said it.

"Did you see where she went? Please."

The attendant looked like he'd been worked over by a carriage. He was really surprised to hear that Sakura trusted him. Ino watched him tentatively as he ran a hand through that weird hair of his.

"I am unable to divulge…"

" **Fine**." She snapped. "I'll find her myself."

He watched her storm away, and sighed. What an annoying girl.

' _How does Sakura put up with her?'_

.

.

Sakura moved away from the door after her fourteenth attempt to knock it down. Anything in this room that she could lift on her own in order to use as a battering ram wasn't strong enough.

That was some good quality craftsmanship, right there.

She sighed, resigning herself to the inevitable, and decided to take this opportunity to check out this insane library.

Whomever had used this room, they'd certainly made themselves at home. As she'd noted upon first entering the room, there was a lounge ensemble in the corner, next to a dressing table with a vanity and what looked like a portable armoire. Someone had made this room their home – or second home.

But the personal amenities didn't really interest Sakura.

She found herself walking down the first aisle of books, just visually taking in the sight of the stacks piled above her. This was a sanctuary of silence. Volumes upon volumes of books – she could live the rest of her life in here and never finish reading everything. The high-rise ceiling was spherical and gave the impression of a spacious room beyond the first section of the room; she imagined these rows of literature did indeed span further than she could see from floor level. This repository must've taken previous kings years to put together.

Sakura ran her fingers along the spines of the books as she went, just admiring them. She wanted to find a comfortable spot to sit down and start reading them, but logic told her to leave them where they were. She was going to leave here tonight, and for the first time, that thought saddened her.

Maybe some other time…

The strange room had her entranced more than any other room in any other home, be it a manor, small farm house or king sized castle.

Sakura sighed.

It was only a few minutes later that the sound of someone banging on the door to the library reached her. She'd wandered in a bit more deeply than she'd intended.

But the next sound sent chills down her spine: the door shook slightly and the handle jiggled, like someone was testing it, not knowing it was already locked.

Which meant that whoever was on the other side didn't have a key. It couldn't be Gaara.

She ran out of the stacks, and instinctively reached for the wardrobe (the largest space in the room she could hide in). But the idea of hiding only lasted a few seconds. Why should she have to do that?

But if she could knock out the intruder instead, then she could escape the room. Obviously, she wasn't as safe here as Gaara had assumed.

Looking around quickly, she immediately spotted a small vase on the dresser – it was probably only thick enough to stun the person trying to come through the door, but she'd be able to dart past them, even if they didn't black out.

Yes. That was the plan. Provided they actually got in here, anyway.

' _Might have to break the door down,'_ she thought. If they were determined enough, anyway.

And disproportionally muscular.

She tiptoed toward the door, keeping her eyes trained on the knob. If she stood just right, she'd have the perfect angle to smash the vase down on this guy without giving him a chance to avoid the attack.

Sakura waited impatiently. Over a minute later, the door knob turned; she didn't wait to wonder how this person had done that. Instead, she broke the pottery over his head. He slumped forward, letting out a startled cry; she was just about to run past him when his spoke and she froze, mid-stride.

"Ow! What the fuck did you do **that** for?"

Sakura's eyes widened as she took in the dark hair, the imposing frame, and the familiar, slightly hunched form. "B-Baki?"

"Yeah." He grunted, rubbing the back of his head gingerly. "Long time, no see, to you too."

"Sorry." She dropped the vase (it didn't shatter, just rolled away from her – more quality craftsmanship).

He grunted again and pushed himself to his feet unsteadily. "Am I bleeding?"

"You're not bleeding."

"My head feels wet."

Sakura rolled her eyes. "You're not bleeding."

"I might have a concussion."

"You might be a baby."

"Hmph."

Baki looked at her, finally, realizing something.

"You're not dressed for a débutante ball."

Sakura looked down at herself, remembering belatedly that she was wearing a maid's outfit. "It does look weird on me, I guess."

"Oh, incognito."

"I guess."

Sakura bit her lip, thinking, as silence fell between them. Did this change things, since it was Baki coming in here and not some high society brigand or king's assassin?

"Hang on," she said. "You didn't use a key: how did you even get in here?"

He held out a small pouch and Sakura's eyes widened when she recognized the tools inside.

"You picked the lock? You can do that?"

Baki flushed under Sakura's awe. "It's just a tumbler lock; easy." He cleared his throat. "Uh, I should probably get you out of here."

"Wait, where's Gaara?"

Baki rubbed his head again. "Well, you see… uh… he, uh… wants to talk to his father again and thought you'd be safer with me than him."

She rolled her eyes. " _Menteur_."

"I am **not**." He sighed as she snorted. "Fine, I lied. But he really did send me here to get you out of here. Bastard didn't leave me the key. But you had a plan to leave tonight, right? Well, I'm here to facilitate."

"How?"

"I'll have you know I spent half a decade working in and around criminals, and I know a thing or two about clandestine activities."

Sakura cocked her head at the door. "I can see that."

"Puh-lease, like that was criminal. Any ninny can learn to pick a lock."

The more she spoke with Baki, the more Sakura realized the man who had facilitated her marriage to Gaara was the strangest weirdo she'd ever met. And she met a lot of them.

"We should go," he said, interrupting her thoughts.

But he worked for Gaara, right? "And meet up with Gaara, I assume?"

Baki averted his eyes. Gaara had told her he'd be back soon, but if he had indeed run into his family, then "soon" could be a while. Especially since they'd now be aware of their plans to sneak out dressed as servants. But Sakura was adamant about not being left behind again.

"Baki?"

"Um, yeah, sure."

She didn't believe him. But… Sakura's eyes fell on the broken vase she'd used in an attempt to stun him.

"Okay," she said, and he visibly relaxed.

"Come on."

Sakura raised an eyebrow. "And you're going out like that?"

He looked down at his clothes; Gaara had sprung to get him dressed up in the coattails he'd made jokes about back in the cabin before he'd agreed to even come here. A nice, but sarcastic gesture. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Well, if I have to dress up as the help, then so do you, Mister Incognito."

He pulled a face. "Just for the record, 'the help' sounds oddly rude, even coming from you."

"Just find something to get changed into."

He sniffed dramatically and turned away from her.

Sakura edged toward the broken vase on the floor as Baki stuck his head in the wardrobe.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with you two," he said.

"Who, two?"

"You and Gaara."

"What do you mean?"

She bent down and picked up the vase; it wasn't broken all the way through, like she'd thought, but there was a gaping hole where it had hit Baki's head. She winced slightly, feeling guilty. The man put up with a lot with Gaara, she supposed, and Sakura was just adding to it.

She needed to make this up to him later.

"I hesitate to call it 'love' because you kids are just so...well, you are strangers. But damn if you're not obsessed with each other..."

"Don't know what you mean."

Baki snorted, but didn't respond.

Sakura inched toward him, gripping the strangely urn-like vase tightly; he stood up suddenly.

"I guess this'll do."

"Sorry."

Sakura brought the porcelain vase up over her head and dropped it on him as Baki turned toward her; the startled look on his face would've been comical if she hadn't already done this a minute ago.

"Sorry," she said again.

His body slumped against the floor; Sakura quickly checked his pulse to assuage her guilt, and whispered her apologies again before darting out the door.

More important than her guilt over attacking Baki twice within minutes, and with the same impromptu weapon, she **really** needed to find where Gaara had gotten to. She didn't believe Baki was taking her to see him – even if he did mean well, he was just going to slow her down – and he was strong enough to stop her from getting away.

This was just a night full of clandestine activities.

Sakura darted along the hallway, mentally mapping her way back along the path Gaara had taken to get them to the library, and making sure to keep to the shadows as much as possible. She was going to kill him, when she found him.

But…Gaara wasn't heading to confront his family again, was he? If he was right, the king didn't want her anywhere near any of them.

Either way, she wasn't going to let him take on all the responsibility of this by himself.

.

.

Dark eyes watched Sakura sneak away from the terrace and back toward the ballroom, before veering off and heading toward the guest wing. He shook his head at her, wondering how someone so ignorant to the country she lived in could have survived so long.

If there was one thing Sasuke Uchiha could be sure of, it was that there was no need to **sneak** around this castle when it came to leaving. All you had to do was make sure you knew where the person (or people) you wanted to avoid was, and go the other way. The king was busy making nice with the guests and his lap dog children were behaving themselves by keeping close to him; there was nothing here worth worrying over.

Sasuke shook his head, just thinking about his conversation with the pink haired girl earlier. She wasn't a ditz, but she had no class. The people here hated her – she should've left a long time ago. It was stupid of her to stay.

But she was **involved** with that wayward Sabaku, which meant her stay here was going to be violently shorter than she'd expected.

Married.

Just wait until he told Naruto this.

A tiny, niggling voice reminded him that Naruto would kill him if he let anything happen to her, but he ignored it. Watching how the king had looked at her from the podium during his speech was enough to make Sasuke realise Naruto's friendship with the girl was more trouble than it was worth.

But he'd gone over to talk to her during the ball anyway. Damn if he wasn't terrified of the pouting look Naruto would give him if he hadn't sussed that situation out.

' _Not that it matters.'_

She was Gaara's problem now.

And he could have her.

Ignoring that niggling voice (again), Sasuke turned away from the ballroom – this old castle had more exits than what was traditionally called for (an upgrade by the resident, mad king, he supposed), and the least guarded was along the westward walls.

He knew this of course, through intel provided by his father. But if Fugaku knew what he'd been using it for, the man would **kill** him. Figuratively.

Quick and easy; Sasuke slipped through the blind spot in the guard patrols. The cool, night air hit him a moment later.

' _Why did I even come here?'_

A favour to Naruto. Right. The man had everything he wanted, and even a few things he didn't know he possessed that his best friend of all people, wanted more than Naruto did. And one thing Sasuke wanted more than anything… the blonde didn't even know how lucky he was.

The ladies tonight were nice to look at, and to touch, and to imagine what they'd look like splayed out underneath him, but they weren't **her** …

He shook his head and sighed. That was why he'd needed to get away for a while; to clear his head.

But never again was he coming back here.

A sound to his right caught his attention, and Sasuke's hand went to his belt instinctively (he always carried a small knife on his person, just in case).

"Identify yourself."

Eyes as dark as his own appeared from behind the castle wall; except these ones always seem to twinkle like he knew some universal secret the rest of the mere mortals around him were not privy to.

Sasuke rolled his eyes and relaxed his stance; he was confused more than wary. The man in front of him was dressed like a servant, which threw him off for a moment, as he'd forgotten the older man was a glorified coachman now. That was what happened when you refused the hand of an Uchiha princess.

The strange man had apparently also been assigned to keep an eye on Sakura.

Naruto's former sensei cocked his head at the Uchiha. "Fancy seeing **you** here, Sasuke-kun."

' _Annoying, sarcastic bastard.'_

…

 **Because we talked about French words being slang in Wind, it's now important to note that we decided on the normal, Naruto words, like kun, sama, baka, and dobe, for the Fire people – but not a specifically high society thing, as Fire is not quite as stuck up as Wind. XD**


	10. Chapter 10

**We apologise for the delay. A mix of busy schedules, bad timing for conversation, and real life... problems.**

 **Enjoy. XD**

 **Disclaimer: c.f. chapter 1.**

…

 **Chapter 10**

Winter turned even the harshest desert landscape into a wonderland of rain-impacted swirls on clay-coloured sand; the simple colours created an artistic composite of sight and sound. He'd always preferred the heat of dry, desert areas, but there was something so magical about the rain. How it all mixed together. It was something he couldn't put into words. Even though Winter in the Land of Wind wasn't cold enough to produce snow, it certainly _felt_ cold enough.

There was nothing he wanted more right now, than for this sporadic rainfall to turn into a storm.

Hugging himself gently, Gaara stared out over the semi-circular driveway, his eyes drifting out and along the private road as it curved away from his father's castle. The sounds of the débutante ball could be heard from all the way out here, and he had no doubt in his mind that the dinner his father had spoken of, was already underway.

It meant his time was running out.

Gaara felt the presence before he heard the scuffing of their shoes. Partially hidden under the _porte-co ch_ _è_ _re_ , he was barely noticeable, but his contact was hidden in shadow; the redhead nodded to the figure behind him, waiting for the man to disappear before stepping out into the night air.

" _The way is clear."_

His contact within the hierarchy of Wind was the shy type, preferring to meet alone and keep their features covered – or bathed in shadow. They would not have appreciated the presence of a certain pink haired girl, if he'd brought Sakura along. Still, he knew she was going to berate him for leaving her in that room. She had both a demure side and stubborn side that were unusual in a high society girl but perfect in a ball of pink coloured femininity. He smirked at that comparison. Either way, Baki would've found her by now, and they should be on their way to the carriage house.

They just needed to get off the estate without being seen if they had any hopes of actually _getting away_ , and no half-arsed conceived idea a pair of ladies of the court came up with, was going to work. It wasn't that Gaara doubted Sakura's intellect, but he didn't know this Ino person she put so much faith in. He had a lot of experience evading his father's eyes, and there was no-one he trusted more than himself to keep that winning streak going.

Their best bet was to head to Otaki first; a small village with a big secret, overlooked by the aristocracy as an inconsequential outlying village to the east. There, they could stock up and find the right trade route out of the country. It was a natural hub for the underground in the Land of Wind because of its size and position near the border. It would also be the best destination as it was in the opposite direction of the Land of Fire – the country his father _knew_ Gaara always fled to, to lie low.

Gaara looked down at the note in his hand, again. Naruto's words ran through his head heavily.

 _Get her to the border and I can do the rest._

The mere idea of just handing her over to him didn't sit well with the redhead.

' _I'll deal with that later.'_

He stopped walking, realising he'd absentmindedly made it to his destination. Still dressed as the _help_ , Gaara spoke softly to the footman standing outside the carriage house, keeping his eyes downcast. The man nodded and accepted his excuse, leaving the mews with a curt nod. If he suspected the hall boy wasn't who he said he was, the man gave no indication. With his hair covered, Gaara believed he was in the clear.

' _Money talks, too,'_ he thought. And the higher in standing their boss was, the greedier the help became.

Gaara double-checked to make sure the area was empty and slipped into the Royal Mew; there was a single horse-drawn carriage waiting for him, as promised. He had no idea what that Ino person had had planned, but this was infinitely better.

Gaara quickly checked the outside, looking for movement, before settling on a bench outside the carriage house to wait for Sakura and Baki. Impatience weighed heavily on him and it gave him a few minutes to recap the conversation he'd had with his father, in his head.

Rasa's unspoken order to do something about Sasuke… it was both surprisingly ominous and telling. Gaara had indeed been with the Imperial Guard, but it had been so long ago. Yeah, he'd killed before. In the name of his father. In the name of his country. And before that, just to survive his father and country. But that hardly made him patriotic. Or stupid enough to believe his father would just accept him back.

Still, he didn't take King Rasa for a fool.

And, if Sasuke was smart, he already had other means to leave in a hurry.

Baki had thought the old man would be more open, more accepting – he was wrong. Gaara had humiliated him and King Rasa was **not** a forgiving man. The only thing the redhead could do now was get the hell out of here – some where the old man had no jurisdiction. Like the Land of Fire.

Gaara laughed out loud at the irony of it all.

"Gaara."

Gaara stood up sharply, spun around, and immediately scowled. He took a moment to calm his nerves and appreciate the _cruel_ irony that now stood in front of him.

"Did he send you here?" He asked.

"No."

He watched his sister closely as Temari stepped toward him; seemingly not bothered by the rain, light as it was. She looked pained – not that he cared. Why should he? She'd stood by their father every time Rasa had ordered his **quiet** death. She and Kankuro, both. Neither had come to him before, looking to placate or reacquaint with their younger brother.

So, what the fuck did she want now? And how had she found him?

Despite the fact that she clearly hadn't wanted anything to do with Rasa's little speech earlier about honour to the family and blah, blah, blah, Gaara didn't care. They had never been much of a family, anyway. Growing up, he'd only known the multitude of nursemaids that came and went, not to mention that period of time his uncle looked after him; shortly before his death. During those months they spent together, Yashamaru was the only family member who would even speak to Gaara. Nobody knew more about the moody redhead than him.

Until Baki. But that was a whole other story.

Gaara watched Temari closely as she shifted her weight between her feet nervously. This woman was known far and wide as a force of nature. She was rarely overwhelmed. Her duty to her father, brother Kankuro had overridden her loyalty to her snotty husband on multiple occasions; she was ruthless.

"You need to leave."

Seriously?

Gaara glared at her. "You don't speak to me for months, nor return any communications for years, and _that's_ all you have to say to me?"

"I was ordered–"

"Don't bother."

Her eye twitched, but she didn't call him out on his lack of respect for their father. Rasa had filled their head with the importance of family loyalty, duty, and appearances from childhood, but he rarely bothered with Gaara. He wasn't important until the day his existence had been seen as a good thing by the rest of the country. Temari didn't like that things had turned out that way, but she was tired of being lumped in the same boat as their father. Like she'd _chosen_ to keep him at arm's length.

" _Fine_ ," she said, biting her tongue to keep from snapping at him. "I'll get straight to the point. You knew coming back here would just invoke his anger. You remember the last time you two spoke. How you both ended it. He wouldn't help you with that prison debacle, so what did you hope to accomplish by returning?"

He wanted to scoff, to let that roll off of him, but it bothered him. It made him so angry.

"If I'm so unwelcomed, what was the whole speech _father_ made about? That pontification? And _prince du sang_? Why appear to welcome me back if he had no intention of doing so?"

Gaara's voice rose as his anger did. He struggled to maintain some semblance of calm in the face of her frustration. Her insinuation that he'd never belonged here to begin with. He didn't want to be doing this with her right now. He had a schedule to keep, and not a lot of time before Baki and Sakura were due to show up.

A niggling feeling told him they were overdue, even though he hadn't really paid attention to the time.

"I don't know. Maybe it's the same-old, same-old with you two. Maybe he really wanted to give you an opening to return to us."

Gaara scoffed, gripping the missive in his hand tighter.

"Maybe," Temari said. "Or maybe he's well aware of everything and _everyone_ you've been doing and had a long, protracted plan to publicly accept you and then kill you."

"Had?"

"Things have changed."

Gaara thought of Sakura, then. Yes, things had changed. It was selfish of him to get involved with her. It was selfish of him to marry her, knowing he wasn't going to be executed – Baki wouldn't have let him go, regardless of King Rasa's orders. Many times, including his imprisonment in the Westward prison, the redhead had almost given up. He owed his old friend more than he could ever repay.

And Sakura...

He closed his eyes, picturing her. His life before her had been so hollow; the shallow sex, the empty sex. The dead-end attempts at a life he could be proud of. Surviving but not _living_.

How cliché.

"You should leave," Temari repeated.

He growled. "Why do you care?"

"You and that _putain_ –"

"Temari," he warned.

"Fine." She snapped. "Take your…" She paused when he narrowed his eyes at her warningly. " **Wife** ," she continued carefully, "and get out of here. If you don't do what he wants this time, that's it – he wants you to disappear, even if he has to kill you and pretend you died in the line of duty with the Imperial Guard. It's that Uchiha or yourself. And if you come back to us…" She inhaled deeply. "Come back _alone_."

She didn't wait for his retort, turning around and storming off. The rain did nothing to blur the outline of his sister as she left, but she faded into the background, nonetheless. Gaara stared after her, however, long after she'd gone. At least he got the truth. To some degree. He should be happy with that. But he wasn't.

No matter how many times he'd told himself they didn't matter to him anymore, it had only ever been a lie. A lie he _had_ to tell himself, because that dream of a happy family was never going to happen.

A familiar presence; he hadn't noticed it in Temari's wake. Things were careening out of control.

 _Get her to the border and I can do the rest._

.

.

The cold had set in and precipitation fell in gentle, vaporous streaks over her head; not enough to warrant an umbrella, but enough that a thin filament of rain had begun to form over her maid uniform. Sakura didn't hesitate, however, as she broke into a run once she escaped out of the lower hallways used solely by servants, and into the open air. The night had never smelled so beautiful.

No-one had been able to tell her where a servant matching Gaara's disguised description was, but a few of the servants remembered seeing more traffic than usual in the eastern section of the castle, in the past ten minutes. Something about the head footman preparing horses and a carriage on the orders of one of the royal attendants. It was all hush-hush and last minute, and not a lot to go on, since it might have nothing to do with Gaara at all, but there was only a slim chance that it was anyone else in his family planning an early getaway. That dinner King Rasa had talked about was apparently in full swing, at this very second.

It never failed to surprise Sakura how easily servants took to changes in their orders. Illicit rendezvous and getaways must be more common than she thought.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled; someone was watching her. As she ran along the outer curtain wall of the old castle, making a bee-line for the side gate nearest to where the carriages were prepared, she knew her flight was never going to go unnoticed. There were numerous points of exit to choose from, but all were guarded either by a burly guard or a watchman in his post in the pinnacle of the tower above it. She didn't care, as long as they couldn't be arsed to follow and stop her. They were sentries in name but glorified wet nurses when it came to true action.

Or so Ino had told her.

Also a point in her favour was that the white head cap on her head kept her pink hair hidden; no trumpet sounded as she fled down the footbridge, making her way toward the carriage house. The rain wasn't loud enough to hide the sounds of chatter that reached her ear a moment later. She slowed her stride; this was how she was going to run off eventually, with Ino's help, so it made sense that others had thought of this too. She decided to take a chance, since escape from this castle was paramount for both her and Gaara; there was _something_ going on with Rasa, where Sasuke was concerned, and Sakura was no fool. During that exchange back in that library, there was a conversation going on in their silent stares that she wasn't privy to.

There was no distinct red hair from her vantage point, but that dilapidated uniform was familiar enough to send Sakura running toward the person wearing it.

He was standing next to someone, but she didn't care.

Sakura launched herself at him the moment he turned to face her, unleashing all her anger on him; pounding her fists on his chest. " _Salaud_!"

Gaara's eyes widened at her blatantly crude language. He grabbed her hands, but she twisted her wrists in an attempt to keep assaulting him. "Damn it, woman. Stop hitting me!"

"You _bastard_!"

"I assure you, my parents were–"

"Shut up."

"Tch. Annoying."

Sakura spun around, finally noticing who Gaara had been talking with. "Sasuke? What are you doing here?"

The raven-haired man inclined his head to her. "I promised Naruto. Now it seems I've been roped into getting you to the border."

If she knew him at all, she'd see through the calm façade to the frustration within.

Instead, her eyes widened, and she looked back at Gaara who was watching her closely. "You're coming too, right?"

She had every right to mistrust that he'd keep his promise. Her hands bunched his shirt and she stared into his eyes, uncertain. When he nodded, she exhaled deeply but didn't let go of him.

Gaara looked over her head to note their newcomer.

His old friend had the decency to look ashamed; Baki visibly wilted under that infamous glare.

"Sorry," he said. "She's a bit violent." He rubbed the back of his head for emphasis.

Gaara chuckled. "That she is."

Sakura growled at him. "Arsehole."

She felt her anger bubble, but when Sakura moved to slap his chest again, Gaara stopped her; clasping his hands over hers, he gave her an amused smile.

"Now, is that any way to treat your husband?"

"HUSBAND?"

The high-pitched squeal of indignation rang out in the open and seemed to continue echoing off into the distance.

Sakura groaned. " _Ino_."

That was going to attract attention.

"Well, this is annoying." Sasuke shook his head. "I've done my part. Don't make me look like a liar, Sabaku."

He disappeared into the mews, clearly making his own exit. Gaara didn't care. He groaned at the arrival of Sakura's friend. This was definitely annoying. Sakura stiffened, and he decided the best thing would be to give them a minute, so he and Baki both moved to speak with the driver, giving the girls their privacy.

Sakura laced her fingers together, watching her friend, nervously. Ino recovered quickly and smirked.

"So, this is who you've been moping over, forehead?" Ino raked Gaara over once with her eyes, lingering on his backside. "Isn't he supposed to be dead?"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"That he's the King's son?"

Sakura groaned, throwing a dirty look in Gaara's direction. "I didn't know _that_ part."

"So, you fell in love with a stranger? Huh. How uncouth of you, my dear." Ino chuckled. "I can see why, though. Nice _derrière_."

Sakura blushed.

"Uh-huh. I take it from your blush he's nice all over?"

" _Ino_."

"But why tell me he was dead?"

"I thought he was." Sakura couldn't help but glare at Gaara again. As if sensing her ire, he turned to look at her, and blew a kiss. Her cheeks reddened even further. "The _arse_."

Ino chuckled but didn't comment. It was nice to see her little pinkie so welcomed and happy; even if she covered it in anger over whatever was going on between them, it was obvious to the blonde that Sakura was in love. This was all Ino had wanted for her best friend, so she decided to leave her alone about the lie. At least, for now.

Sakura sighed. "By the way, Ino, how did you find me out here?"

"I'll tell you when you blossom into womanhood."

Sakura frowned.

"It's not for the faint hearted." Ino stuck her tongue out and waggled it, making her friend blush. "I'm joking, of course. It's a lengthy tale of girl meets boy, boy is terrified of girl and tells her things that good girls aren't supposed to know, and finally, girl sees the one she's after and chases after her in a blaze of glory." She giggled. "Later, though."

"Ladies, it's time to go." Gaara called.

Ino looked up at the castle at the sound of a commotion. Something else was going on. "You can't tell me all about it some other time, forehead," she said quickly, as Sakura opened her mouth to say something. "Get going, my little _mignon_."

They hugged briefly; Sakura held on a little tightly, afraid to let go.

As Ino watched her being led into the carriage by her husband and rolled her eyes at his antics – hands cupping her arse, like a real douche – she had a horrible feeling she would never see her best friend again.

…

 **IridescentInTheDark: In the interest of consistency and because it would feel weird not to mention:** FallenCrimsonStar **is now** FallenInDreams **. I'll go over and change that in previous author note's so as to avoid confusion.**

 **As usual, please review. XD**


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